Behind Closed Doors
by Mistmantle
Summary: Season four after action bits. So. We're back from the hiatus! Updated to Thick as Thieves. Sharon gives Rusty relationship and tries to give him legal advice, based on her own experiences. Features a flashback to Sharon and Jack in college.
1. A Rose Is A Rose

**_A/N- So this all started a year ago with the Season 3 premiere. And we're beginning again. I'll do the same thing as last year, including all the "I won't be able to post next week, because [xyz]." Next week it's Astrocamp. Today, though. . . Holy shit, Darth Raydor is back with a vengeance. Did anyone else think she seemed (justifiably) distracted and short-tempered? But either way, here is your first after-action fic. Please do note, like last year, I will be trying to keep in line with canon, whether I like it or not._**

* * *

 _"I don't think I've slept through the night in. . . months."_

Sharon jerked awake, covers slithering to the floor. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, and pressed one hand to her chest. Like always, there was no external palpitation, and she dropped her hand.

She sighed and drew her knees up, resting her elbows upon them and cradling her head. Her eyes burned and her head ached from lack of sleep. It wasn't as though she wasn't sleeping _at all_ , it was more. . . she just wasn't sleeping well. Nowadays, if she only woke in the darkness once, she counted it as a good night. It was typically twice, occasionally three times.

The three-times-nights were the worst. The first time she woke, she'd be awake for the better part of an hour. She'd learned to accept it and go to the kitchen for a mug of tea.

The second time, she'd just stay in bed, mulling over the choices that had brought her to where she was physically, mentally, in the LAPD. She knew it wasn't wise to continually think and re-think her actions, but she couldn't stop the little voice in the back of her mind.

 _What if you'd never left Stroh alone with Judge Schaffer?_

 _Well, he might very well have killed you as well. And then where would Rusty be?_

 _Well, at least he wouldn't have someone_ spying _on him day in and day out._

 _You probably ought to go see the department shrink,_ the rational part of her would say. _This isn't healthy._

She couldn't bring herself to go talk to anyone, though. It was hypocritical, she knew, especially after all she'd told Rusty about the difference between mental illness and emotional injury. It felt like admitting a weakness, though, and she couldn't be weak. She was the wicked witch of the LAPD. The cold-blooded investigator.

 _Stone-cold,_ she'd tell herself. _You're stone-cold. A rock. A mountain._

Eventually, she'd drift off again, to be woken either by the sun and her alarm clock or her own anxieties.

If she did wake a third time, it was only a passing wakefulness, like a breaststroke swimmer coming up for a breath. She'd be far too exhausted to stay awake for long. Nonetheless, it was enough to disrupt her.

This was the first time she'd awoken for the night. She sighed, and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her cream silken robe was on the floor, having fallen with her covers. It was hot for June, even inside the condominium, but she pulled the robe on anyway. She was wearing her summer pajamas, a rather scanty daisy-patterned set: shorts and a spaghetti top from the same sort of material as the robe. It wouldn't do for Rusty to catch his sixty-something mother in mini-shorts. Not that she couldn't carry the look off- she knew she could- she just didn't particularly want to go there with her son, of all people.

This time, it was the memory of her conversation with Andy keeping her awake. _I don't need you for that._ She chewed her lip. It had come off harsher than she'd intended. She bit down harder, feeling her eyes water. She couldn't cry. Her head thumped against the bed as she fell back against the mattress.

Emotionally, she was all over the board. She knew it was because she hadn't been sleeping, but that knowledge didn't keep her from snapping at Taylor every time he walked into her murder room. She was mildly surprised he hadn't reprimanded her for continually challenging him, back-talking, and ignoring him. She knew _he knew_ she was worried witless about Rusty, that Philip Stroh haunted her every thought, that she couldn't take Alice Herrera's photo from her board.

She left her room and padded into the hall. It was time for tea. She had almost reached the living room when her sleep-deprived senses caught up with her.

Voices. She could hear soft voices.

She turned and saw light shining from underneath Rusty's door. She paused for a second outside the door, trying to tell if there were multiple people inside.

He said something softly, and the words were slightly muffled by the door, but it sounded like he was talking about identity.

"Honey?"

She tapped on his door and slowly cracked it open.

"Yeah, you can come in." He tilted his laptop screen down slightly.

She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in.

"Why are you still up? It's-" she glanced to the clock on his desk. "It's nearly two."

"I was. . ." he looked down, fiddling with his computer. There were several windows open on his laptop, and she recognized one as a video editing program. "Buzz and I were talking a little bit earlier, and I was thinking. . ."

"Yes?" she prompted after another moment.

"Alice Herrera."

Sharon frowned and sat down on the edge of the nightstand. "What about her?"

"I was thinking, um, could I look into her?"

It took her a moment to understand what he meant. "You mean write about her?"

"Yeah, and see if I can figure anything out about her."

"Rusty-"

"Sharon, I know I'm not a detective or anything, but it can't hurt if I just do some research, right?"

He had read her all wrong. He thought she didn't want him to try. She didn't mind, so much as she didn't want to set him up for failure. If an elite team of detectives had turned up next to nothing about the girl, she didn't think he could do much better. She had been surprised before, but Alice Herrera's case was something Sharon knew too well to feel confident about.

She tried to smile at him and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "No, it can't hurt."

He looked up sharply. "You mean I can do it?"

"Yes. Rusty, I don't know if you'll be able to find anything out-"

"That's okay. I mean, I think I can help. Like, kids might be more willing to talk to someone closer to their own age, who isn't a cop, and who has. . ." he trailed off.

"Has what?"

He shrugged. "An understanding," he replied after a moment.

It took her another moment to understand what he meant. "Oh, honey."

"Sharon, it's okay. I'm over- well, I mean, I'll never really be _over_ it, but. . . it's the past. I can't change it. All I can do it use it to make things better."

She slid off the table and hugged him tightly. "That is the most courageous thing you could possibly do."

He let her hug him for a minute, then fidgeted. "Sharon?"

"Mm?"

"Why are you up?"

She sighed.

Rusty sighed. "You can't sleep." It was a statement, not a question.

"No." There was no use hiding it.

"Stroh?"

She snorted. "No, actually. Not this time."

"Really?" He sounded doubtful. "You had his file on the dining table."

She needed to work on keeping her papers confined to her desk. "Really. If seeing is believing, then he's in Crete or Cyprus."

"Crete? Isn't that by Greece or something?"

"Yes." She stood and cracked her back, feeling the vertebrae crackle into place. "Do you want some tea?"

"Umm. . ."

"Or cocoa?"

"Sure." He followed her out of the room. She needed someone, he could tell. She would never admit to it, but she needed a friend. He wouldn't cut it, as her son, but he'd do what he could to talk her down. He wasn't often awake in the middle of the night when she was, but it had happened occasionally. Usually, she'd end up in the kitchen, drinking tea and staring into space. In the beginning, he'd find her pouring over case files and supposed sightings of Philip Stroh, but that was becoming rarer. He suspected she was simply too tired to focus well. It was because of him, he knew. In a roundabout sense, anyways. She was worried about him, worried about Stroh, maybe worried about something else he didn't know about. She had seemed even more exhausted than usual when she had arrived home, almost two hours after he had.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she put the kettle on.

"Hmm?"

"Are you _okay_ , Sharon? I mean. . ." he didn't know how to word it. In the five months since Stroh's escape, she had gradually become more edgy and snapish, and he could see the darkening shadows under her eyes. She covered well at work, and it was due in no small part to heavy-duty makeup. He had seen a tube of concealer in the bathroom that said it could mask tattoos. He was fairly certain Sharon didn't have any tattoos, let alone a tattoo that she couldn't hide with her black slacks and dress jackets. "You look tired," he lamely settled with.

"I'm alright." She pushed a mug of cocoa towards him and wrapped her hands around her own mug. Rusty could smell ginger and lemon.

"Sharon-"

"Rusty." She said it gently, but with more force than usual. "I'm fine. We don't need to talk about this."

"Yeah, we do."

She looked slightly surprised.

"You're not sleeping, Sharon!" He sounded slightly desperate.

"I am, too." She carried the same tone she had when she said she didn't freak out. Defensively dismissive.

"Then how come you're out here in the middle of the night, every night?" It was a guess, but based upon what he'd seen, he thought it was a decent guess.

She pursed her lips and looked down. "'Why,' not 'how come.' Have I been waking you up?"

 _Oh my God._ She _was_ up every night. "No, Sharon."

She snorted and smiled slightly. "I just got played, didn't I?"

"I learned from the best," he grinned back at her. "But really, are you sure?"

"Rusty, this is something I'm afraid you can't help me with."

"What is it?"

"What is what?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. Why can't you sleep? Is it Stroh?"

She sighed again, turning the still-full mug in her hands. "Only partly."

"Partly?"

"Yes. Part Stroh, and part other things."

"Like what?"

She appeared to be sizing him up.

"Your 'stalker.'"

"That's only been today, Sharon." He frowned.

"No, it hasn't." She smiled, in the sad way that meant she knew more than he did, and the knowledge wasn't a good thing.

"What do you mean?"

She flashed him a pinched smile. "I had you tailed."

There was a moment of silence.

"Wait, what?" He couldn't believe his ears. "What?"

"I had Lieutenant Cooper organize a tail for you."

He felt cold, then hot in quick succession.

When he didn't say anything, she continued. "You've been followed since Stroh's escape."

 _"What?"_

"Five months, honey. I'm sorry. I thought it was best." She was shaking her head, her hair curtaining her face. "I thought I was helping you, keeping you safe, keeping you out of harm's way." Her voice cracked.

"Sharon."

"I wanted- I just wanted you safe."

He couldn't tell if she was crying yet, but it was getting close. Her voice was wavering, getting higher. He couldn't do tears, especially when they came from Sharon. He could feel his heart rate speeding up; he was breathing faster.

"Sharon-" His own voice cracked. He couldn't be angry at her, not right now. Maybe he'd be mad in the morning, after all, she _had_ had him followed for _five months_ , but he was too scared to be angry now. He had to stop the tears.

"Sharon, look," he put his own priorities aside. "Sharon, it's okay."

"No," she said softly. "It's not. It's not my place to do this. I- that woman today, Anna's mother- I can't be her. I can't control your life-"

"You're not."

"But I am. You're nineteen. You're an adult. I can't treat you like a child. You have to make your own choices. I can't have you followed by security for the rest of your life. I can't be that control freak. This is your life, and even though I am legally you mother, I can't do this to you. You've earned more respect that this."

"Sharon," he said slowly. "Sharon it's okay. I probably would have done the same thing if I were you."

"Mm."

"Really. Sharon, I'm older. I understand better. I might have gotten pissed last year, or even a few months ago, but I understand better now. I might not like it, but I get it."

"Oh, honey. I wish you didn't have to understand it." She propped her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in one hand.

He was relieved. She hadn't started crying, at least not in earnest. Her eyes were red, but he was pretty sure that was just from lack of sleep. There were dark violet shadows under her eyes, streaked with the cherry-pink color that Rusty knew meant extreme exhaustion.

"Is that what you were so upset about?"

She shrugged. "Mm. There are a few reasons."

He stared at her, trying to think. Someone had been lurking outside her office when he was leaving, waiting for her. "Flynn?"

She froze momentarily. "Ah-"

"Flynn. What's going on? If I can ask, I mean."

"Of course you _may_ ask. It's complicated, that's all."

"Come on, Sharon. He was waiting for you. Is everything okay?" He didn't really want to ask, but no one else was going to.

"Everything is fine, Rusty. He's just. . . a little overly concerned."

Rusty raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think Andy consciously realizes I've been in the policing business as long as he has, and I know the regulations far better. He's trying to help, but I've got it covered."

 _Well, that was as clear as mud,_ Rusty though. "Okay. And?"

"And?"

"Are you guys okay?" He didn't need to know more than that. As long as Sharon was okay, Rusty was okay. If her. . . _whatever_ with Flynn was something she needed to be okay, then so be it.

"I think so."

"Okay."

"Okay." After a moment, she spoke again. "Go to bed, honey."

"Not until you do."

"Rusty."

"Sharon, I'm serious."

"I'm just going to be up again in a few hours."

"Then you need your sleep while you can get it. Go back to bed with me now."

He could be surprisingly forceful, this boy of hers. She hoped he hadn't gotten the pigheaded stubbornness from her. Of all the things he could have learned from her. . .

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and led her across the living room and down the hall. "Bed."

"Yessir," she mumbled.

He waited until she walked into her room and turned to look at him. "I thought you were going to bed, too."

"Swear you're going back to sleep? You won't come back out here after I go to bed?"

She smiled at his worry. "I promise. I am on my way to bed."

"Okay." He watched her a moment more with worried eyes. "Do you want any Benadryl or something? I have some."

"Honey," she said, with more than a little amusement. "I've tried Benadryl. And Nyquil, and the leftover oxycodone from when I broke my arm."

"They don't help?"

She shrugged, smiling. "Maybe a little. I think the tea helps most, though."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything. Wake me up, okay?"

"Rusty."

"Sharon."

She smiled and stepped forward. "Come here." She hugged him tightly. "I'm so lucky we found each other."

He nodded against her shoulder, unable to speak for a moment. He finally drew away. "G'night, Sharon. I'll see you in the morning?" He didn't think she would have to leave early after wrapping the case so late.

"Sounds good. Good night, Rusty." She closed the door halfway and walked to her bed in the darkness. A little moonlight came through her windows, turning the gold duvet on the floor into a silver lake. She liked the light and the early sun it brought in the morning. She threw her robe over the chair in the corner and dragged the duvet over the bed and herself.

She closed her eyes and drew the sheets over her head. She knew she'd kick the blankets off in the heat while she was asleep, but, for now, the heat was comforting.

 _He's safe._

 ** _A/N- Okay, look._ _That was an episode for the books, and_** ** _I cranked out 3,000 words for you. Not that I didn't have fun, but that deserves some reviews, yeah? Love you all, and I'll try to get it out next week. I'm a counselor at a physics camp, but I think I'll be able to catch it, or at least get it on iTunes or something. (:_**


	2. Sorry I Missed You

_**A/N- It didn't save... I went to publish it and my login had timed out... fml. Here is a slightly abbreviated version of what I remember. I'll try and fix it up soon.**_

"Julio?" The Captain's hand on his should made him jump slightly. "It's late."

"I know, ma'am." He was the last one in the murder room, and it was dark but for the lamp on his desk. He thought she had left long before. "I was just. . . moving in again."

She nodded. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He reached out and readjusted the wedding photo on his desk.

He could feel the warmth of her breath when she huffed in annoyance at his short answer, even though he didn't hear her do it.

A flash of lightning lit up the darkened offices. Sharon glanced at her detective's face. He looked pained, but as far as she could tell, his eyes were dry. She knew he was doing the same once-over to her, and knew exactly what he'd find.

 _Unfortunately_ , she thought.

He'd see the dark shadows under her eyes, the fine wrinkles, and the troubled expression that too often settled across her features.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No ma'am."

She sighed. "We're all here if you want us, Julio. You can't shut your squad out forever." She was tired, and willing to be blunt.

"There's nothing anyone can do," he said shortly.

"Maybe not physically, no," she agreed. "But emotionally, yes. Mentally, yes. They're worried about you." _And I am, too._

"Lieutenant Flynn is worried." It sounded like a statement.

"Yes. He is." _He's told me so, himself._ "He just doesn't show it the same was as, say, Mike. They all show emotions differently. Lieutenant Provenza won't say the same things to you as Amy, for example."

Julio snorted. He couldn't help it, picturing the old detective talking as quickly and excitedly as Sykes.

The Captain smiled, teeth glowing as lightning flashed again. "You should head home. There's a storm coming. The rain hasn't hit yet, but it will soon."

He nodded, looking down again. The cardboard box on the floor was empty, so he kicked it under the desk.

"Shouldn't you be getting home to the kid?" _The kid_ was in college, and a full adult as far as Julio was concerned, but the Captain worried. She would get in touch with his several times each day, through text or phone, usually, and Julio knew she didn't like leaving him alone in the condo overnight.

"I'll be there soon enough. It's his turn to make dinner, and-" she checked her watch. "He's likely not quite done if I know him at all."

He nodded. He had noticed that she was making a conscious effort not to rush home in the evenings. It had started when she called off his undercover protection. She had to let him spread his wings without her smothering him. Sometimes, it didn't matter what you did; things could still go wrong, no matter how meticulous the planning.

"Julio?" She fiddled with her purse strap.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's her name?" He had never told anyone in the dozen or so years that he had worked with Major Crimes.

Julio looked at the picture. The Captain had never met his wife, and neither had any of the other guys, he was almost certain. She had died before Pope had selected detectives for his new Priority Murder Squad, a dozen years before.

The Captain nodded. Her hand twitched, like she wanted to squeeze his shoulder again, but she refrained. She fished her keys out of her bag. It wasn't on the same scale as Chief Johnson's patent black monstrosity, but it was too large to rightfully be called a purse.

"Goodnight, Julio."

He watched her head across the murder room, bag pinned between her side and her arm.

 _Tapestry bag._ The term hit him suddenly. It was one of those phrases his wife knew. He used to tease her that she was a walking dictionary: able to name anything he could point at. It was a game they sometimes had when they were out. He would point out an object and she would name it.

"Sophia," he called out.

The Captian turned as the lightning flashed, and for a split second, he saw his wife: as tall as the Captain, with her hair swinging about her shoulders, a smile on her face. Then she was gone, Sharon Raydor in her place.

"Pardon?"

"Sophia," he said again. It was to hard to thread _my wife_ into the same sentence.

The Captain froze for a brief moment, then nodded. "Sophia Sanchez."

"Yes."

She nodded and watched him for a moment. "Get some sleep tonight," she said quietly. Then she too was gone, vanishing out the door.

He looked back down at the photo, rubbing the corner of the frame with one finger. He squeezed the edge tightly, then took a deep breath, and headed for the door. There was nothing anyone could do.

"I love you."


	3. Open Line

_**A/N-** **So this is coming out in a rush before the new eppy. Maybe.**_

Sharon pulled her cardigan tighter about herself and dropped onto the sofa. It had been a long, emotional day in more fields than one. She sighed. Tao had gone home to his wife. Sharon had called Kathy, herself, to let the woman know what had happened and what to expect. It was procedure- almost- for a supervisor to call an officer's family in a case like this. It was a little out of the way, but she didn't mind.

She grabbed a throw pillow and held it tightly. There was Tao, and then there was Rusty.

Her son was annoyed. She understood why he was angry, but she couldn't do anything. _Legally,_ couldn't do anything. Nonetheless, she was so proud of him. The vlog episodes she had seen had been professional both in investigation and reporting, and they even looked well-made.

She'd watch them all after the trial, she decided. If she watched them now, it wasn't as though anyone would know. . . Unless her internet history was subpoenaed as part of her involvement with Rusty. Or she said something that Rusty knew and she hadn't fond in her own investigation. Or- she cut herself off. She could wait. She _would_ wait. It wouldn't do anyone good to indulge her inner proud mama. Rusty understood. He knew she couldn't watch them.

 _Speak of the devil_ , she thought. The boy walked across the living room behind her, absorbed in his phone. She leaned over the back the sofa, staring at her son upside-down. She was too tired to care what he thought. "Rusty?"

Rusty turned to look at her. Sharon's hair was almost touching the ground as she stretched her hands over- _or under?-_ her head.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay with everything?"

"The Alice stuff?"

"Mmhmm." She straightened and turned around to face him properly.

"I guess. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Go directly against what the judge told me?"

"I suppose you don't have many other options," she laughed.

"We'll I think I'm going to try and track down her pho-"

"Ah." She held up a hand. "I can't hear that." Her expression softened. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It's okay." He looked down for a moment. "Can I, uh, can I talk to Doctor Joe about it?"

Sharon chewed on her lip. "Mmm, I think so. Yes. That should be alright."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"Okay. I might do that. Is Lieutenant Tao okay?"

She blinked, surprised by the sudden non-sequitur.

"Doctor Joe. Psychologists. . ." he raised an eyebrow at her and she had to hold back a smirk at the gesture. He truly was her son.

"I think he'll be okay. He has an appointment with our department shrink tomorrow."

"Shrink? I can't believe you said that."

She shrugged, smiling. "It's been known to happen."

"I hope he's okay."

"He'll be alright," she said, standing and rounding the sofa. "It's happened to all of us. It take time to heal and recover from the. . . the emotional and mental trauma, but he'll be okay again."

"'There's a difference between being mentally ill and emotionally injured.' You told me that."

She hummed. "Yes, I remember. I'm glad you do."

He paused. She had said _all of us_. "Sharon?"

"Yes?" She looked up from the drawer where she kept the takeout menus.

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

She stared at him, then spoke after a long pause. "Yes. Three times. Nearly four."

"What do you mean?"

"Wade Weller."

"Lieutenant Provenza shot him."

"I had my weapon out, and I was ready to use it."

"Oh."

"There was a man, oh, five or six years back, who shot Andrea. I shot him. With a beanbag gun, mind, not my service weapon."

"Andrea, like DDA Hobbs?"

"Mmm."

"She was okay after that?"

"Yes. It was just a through-and-through in her arm, fortunately. She came back to the station with us, actually, to wrap up the case."

"Wow. That's dedication." He set his phone down on the table and sat down at one of the bar chairs. "Who else? If that's okay."

"Of course. A few years before, I had to. . . I had to shoot an officer."

"What?"

"I was in FID at the time, investigating an improper use of force, and. . . well, it was true, and he thought he could get away, I guess. I still don't know what he was thinking, and I'm not sure I ever will."

"I'm sorry. I can't really imagine that."

She shrugged. "It's happened a couple of times, here and there."

"Multiple times?"

"Mmm." She didn't want to think about Ally Moore. "The first time I shot someone was only six months after I graduated from the Academy."

"Seriously? Oh my God, Sharon-"

"He lived," she said. "But it was still. . ." She wrinkled her nose. "Not something I want to think about really."

"Sorry."

"No, it's alright. It's not something we should forget, even if we want to. It needs to be remembered, if just to remind us why we do our jobs. Why FID needs to _police the police_." She sighed as she said the last words, and Rusty could tell they had been said to her many times before.

"Anyway." She shook her head and looked at him. "What do you want for dinner?"

"What?" He wasn't ready for _her_ subject switch.

"Dinner," she said slowly, smiling. "Food."

"Uh. . ."

"Thai, Italian, the deli down the street, vegetarian-"

"No, not vegetarian. You and Andy can do that on your dates or whatever you call them, but I would prefer-"

"Okay, okay," she laughed. "Chinese?"

"How about Thai? Isn't that what that cashew chicken stuff was?"

"Massaman curry?"

"I dunno. That stuff with cashews and chicken and rice. It was brown?"

"Massaman curry." She snorted and pulled the appropriate menu out. "I'll call it in, and you finish up Alice's vlog episode."

He grinned. She couldn't listen, but she cared. He suddenly felt warm, glad she still cared about Alice. "Thanks."

"Of course. Now shoo. I want to be surprised when I finally get to see these."

"You're going to watch them?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You doubted that? I'll have to wait until after Slider's trial, but yes."

He nodded. "Okay. Okay, thanks Sharon." He grabbed his phone and retreated from the kitchen. "Love you."

She smiled to herself as she picked up her phone. He was a good kid.


	4. Turn Down

_**A/N- HOLY SHIT THAT WAS THE MOST PERFECT EPISODE IN THIS FOUR-SEASON HISTORY, WAS IT NOT? OH MY GOD AND THEY WERE FUCKING DRINKING SHANDY I CAN'T FUCKING EVEN. EVEN. LIKE, GAH. I MEAN, YES AWESOME THAT THEY ARE DRINKING BEER ON TV IN REASONABLE AMOUNTS (my inner RA is proud) PROPS TO THAT I LOVE THAT SHIT, BUT THE FACT THAT IT WAS SHANDY? MASSIVE FUCKING TROLLS, ALL OF THEM.**_

 _ **Okay. I'm good. But seriously, that was perfect. But wth is a 'Dodger dog'?**_

Sharon lead the charge up the stairs. Her condominium was only three floors below the roof, and she didn't see the point in taking the elevator when the stairs were just as fast. She pushed the roof-top door open and paused to let the rest of her team through. They were all there: Amy and Cooper, Buzz, Andy, Mike and Kathy Tao, Andrea.

"Where's Lieutenant Provenza?"

Andy glanced back at her. "Do you really have to ask that?"

She stared at him and raised her eyebrows.

"The elevator," he clarified.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

A flash in the sky caught her eye, and she turned to watch glittering sparks trickle through the sky.

"Willow." Andy leaned down to speak in her ear.

"What?"

"It's a willow type firework. That's what they're called when they have those sparkling branches. Like a weeping willow, get it?"

"Mmhmm." She glanced around. The team had dispersed slightly, to different vantage points on the roof. She leaned against his side and the cap slid down over her eyes. She was reaching to push it back up, but her fingers caught on something.

The cap was resettled on her head, and Andy moved his hand back down to her shoulder.

There was another bang, and a sphere of swirling colors lit the sky.

"Peony."

"How do you know all of these?"

"My brothers and I used to set them off during the summer. We never had enough money to buy the big ones, but we read all the labels and posters about them."

"Ahh." She smiled.

"That big one is a chrysanthemum and those ones on the side are called 'brocade.'" He bent slightly to her eye level so he could point them out. It was mostly- completely- unnecessary, but he told himself he wanted to make sure she knew what he meant.

"I like those ones."

He snorted as she snuggled closer. "Cold?"

"A little."

He was in his shirtsleeves. She was already wearing his jacket.

"Try snapping it up."

She snorted. "That's what you come up with?"

He grinned, even though he knew she couldn't see it. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about-"

"Come here," he laughed. He pulled her in front of him and wrapped both arms around her, pulling the jacket closed. "Better?"

She stiffened for a moment, and then he felt her slowly relax. "Yes."

They watched in silence for several minutes. The sky had started the night- miraculously enough- clear as glass, and now it was clouding over with thick swirls of smoke.

"Sorry there aren't any Dodger dogs."

"Eh, well, I'll just get an extra one next time I'm at a Dodger's game. Provenza will make sure that we get to the next one."

"Yeah?"

"Probably. He likes getting to as many of them as he can. We have this long-running debate about whether they play better when they're wearing the blue or-"

"Andy." She reached up and touched his shoulder. "What if I treat you to a dog at the next game?"

"Huh?" He looked down. "Wait- what? Are you- are you asking me to a game?"

He could feel her shrug. "Maybe."

"Sharon."

"Andy. Shut up and just accept that I will buy the food this time."

" _This_ time?"

"Mmm?" She shifted, looking up. "What was that one?"

"A strobe. It's going to make a loud bang."

Sure enough, a few moments later, there was a thunderous boom, and she flinched against him. There was a long series of snaps and pops following it, one for each of the smaller explosions from the firework.

"This time?" he pressed.

"Well, I'm assuming your slightly old-fashioned sense of chivalry won't allow you to let a woman buy you food without repayment."

"Only you could make that sound so utterly practical."

She laughed. "That's why they hired me."

"Yeah, well. The Pope has a way of picking people."

"That he does." She was silent for a moment. "Let's leave him out of this, though."

"Please. I can feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about him."

Sharon laughed. "I'm sure we could get some Valium from our evidence. No one would know the difference, there's so much of it."

"Oh, God," he groaned.

"Andy?" Her voice was lower; he could barely hear it.

"Yeah?"

"Are we. . . are we a. . ." she paused as Rusty finally walked out onto the roof. The boy barely glanced their way before walking over to join Buzz. "Are we-"

"A thing?" he asked. "Dating? That's your call, Sharon. If you're up for it, then yes, I would love to, well, to try things out with you. I mean, we've been, hell, I don't know what to call it. Dinner, conventions-"

"The wedding."

"The Nutcracker, movies-"

"The charity convention."

"I mean, it's all but official, I guess, because you told Taylor, right?"

"Yes. It's protocol to inform my superior officer, even if we're not exactly-"

"Official." They said it at the same time, softly. The word floated into the night, and they were both silent, as though afraid to disturb the three syllables that seemed to echo around them.

"Dating," she finally muttered. "Mm. Well. . ."

His breath caught in his chest. There was a series of booms and multicolored flashes from above, but he didn't look up.

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that. Over the years, I've found that I'm not a loner." She seemed to be half talking to herself. "I like people, despite what the majority of the force seems to believe."

He wasn't entirely sure what she meant; her words seemed to have a double meaning. He chose to ignore it for now. Whatever- whoever- she had done in the past didn't really matter to him.

"Okay."

"Okay." She nodded. "Dating."

"Dating," he confirmed.

"Don't think this is going to mean I'm going to make dinner all the time or that we're immediately going to start h-"

"Sharon. I don't want you to change anything for me. I like you because you're _you_. You're not the kind of woman that can cook dinner every night. You have a kid, and he doesn't should be forced into new situations at breakneck speed. You shouldn't be forced into new situations at breakneck speed."

There was another boom.

"It does mean, however, that I can do this." He let his tone trail up at the end of the sentence, not quite a question, but not a demand, either.

She turned her face up. "What?"

He looked down at her. "This." He leaned in closer. "Is this okay?"

She pressed one hand up. "Wait. Is this okay for _you?"_

"What do you mean?"

"I've been drinking," she said. "The Shandy."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Most people didn't think about that. "I'm okay with it. It's not a trigger for me anymore. If I was doing it to taste the alcohol, or something like that, then yeah, that would be a problem. But I'm okay. How do you think I've put up with Provenza for all these years?"

She laughed. "Okay then. Kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Rusty glanced over and gagged softly. Buzz laughed under his breath.

"That bad?"

"No, I guess not," Rusty said softly. He turned back to the fireworks. "I mean, yeah, weird that my mom is kiss-"

"What?!" Buzz hissed. "She's-"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Buzz looked back to the fireworks over Dodger's Stadium. "Well, we did promise you fireworks. Happy Independence Day, Rusty."

"Happy Fourth, Buzz."

 _ **A/N- I looked up 'Dodger dogs.' They're ten-inch hot dogs in regular-size buns with all the toppings, I think. Also, I felt an actual use of the 'd-word' was needed. I also hope you enjoyed the BSG and Independence Day references that slipped in (;**_


	5. Snitch

_**A/N- Well then. That answered more questions than it raised, for once. I was out camping last night, but I had my first Shandy haha. Also, I'm thinking Sharon mouthed "Oh my God" at the end, but it doesn't matter too much either way. I'm also choosing to believe that if they won't write Sharon and Andrea as a canon couple, they can at least be besties. (:**_

"Where did Hobbs go?"

There was a moment of silence and then Andrea heard heels clicking along the tiles. She looked up, just in time to catch Sharon's eye as the woman mouthed _"Oh my God"_ in Andrea's direction.

She waited until Sharon reached her and they had taken a few steps down the hall before asking any questions.

"What happened?"

Sharon glanced over, looking rather bemused. "I think Andy just asked me out."

"Flynn?" Andrea snorted. "He finally nutted up?"

Sharon rolled her eyes at her friend. "No need to be crass."

Andrea shoved Sharon gently. "You can't say tell me that. Remember last time we were at Gavin's and you said-"

"Okay, okay. Fine." Sharon held her hand up. "I take it back. That's _not_ something to bring up where Lieutenant Provenza could overhear. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Fair enough." They paused outside the interview room, and then Andrea grabbed Sharon's sleeve and kept walking.

"Andrea-"

"I'm sure Big Hazard can wait a few more minutes." She pushed the door of the women's bathroom open and left Sharon standing at the sinks while she checked to see if anyone else was in the room. Sharon had to bite back a laugh as Andrea bent to look for feet under the stall doors.

"Andrea, it really wasn't-"

" _It wasn't anything big. He just asked me to dinner, that's all._ No, I want to hear the whole story, Shar. You've been teasing me and Gavin with little bits for weeks."

"Well, you've been busy!"

Andrea shot her friend a dark look. " _Bullshi-it._ Gavin was in Milan the other week, and you were at trial, so I'll give you that, but this week? And two weeks before that? We were all free. Look-" she pulled her phone out of her pocket. "We're all off on Sunday. You've already racked up overtime this week, so I'm betting Taylor turns this weekend's call duty over to Robbery-Homicide. How about brunch at Figaro?" Figaro was a small French bistro a few blocks from Sharon's condo.

Sharon opened her mouth, but Andrea cut her off. "I know when Mass is. I'll schedule brunch for afterwards."

"Fine."

"Is that what you told Flynn?" Andrea raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, my God! You are relentless!"

The blonde shrugged. "There's a reason I'm paid what I'm paid."

"Brunch is on you."

"If you'll talk, I'll pay."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Okay. I'll talk. I'll also order the most expensive item on the menu."

"You don't even like steak. I'm going to call bullshit again."

Sharon snorted and smiled. "I can't decide whether to love you or hate you some days."

"That's why we're friends. Think of me as a warm up for what will be coming this weekend. I'm the city-paid lawyer. Gavin's the private lawyer."

"Don't undersell yourself, Drea." Sharon squeezed her friend's shoulder. "I'll be there this weekend."

"Gavin will walk to your condo and drag you out by your heels if you're not there when he arrives."

"God," Sharon snorted. "He would." She sighed and pushed the bathroom door open again. "Go make your deal. I'll call you later."

 _ **A/N- I know it's short, but I'm whipped. Would y'all like if I wrote a chapter about the three of them meeting up? Let me know.**_


	6. Personal Effects

_**A/N- Turns out I'm pretty bomb at not saving and promptly crashing my computer after finishing said unsaved document... Anyway:**_

 _"Welcome to NPR: Morning Edition. This is Steve Inskeep-"_

 _"And I'm Renee Montagne-"_

Sharon moaned and slapped her alarm clock off. She had gone to bed far too late and gotten far too little sleep to be getting up at five in the morning.

Nonetheless, she needed to go running. She hadn't been out to exercise in the morning for weeks, and she was starting to feel the effects. She was antsy in the evenings and sluggish in the mornings. For some reason, she had decided that an extra hour's worth of sleep would be better than a quick run.

That didn't mean she had to like it.

She left her glasses on the nightstand and shuffled towards the chair she'd left her gym clothes on. Black mesh shorts, blue t-shirt. She sat and slowly tied her tennies, muscles uncooperative so early in the morning. After a few more minutes, she was ready to go: hair tied up and phone tucked into her sports bra.

She edged out of the room and shut the door quietly; Rusty was still asleep. The curtains were closed, leaving the condo dark. Usually when she got up, she opened them. It was an unspoken signal between her and Rusty. He closed them at night when he went to bed, and- if Sharon was back late- she'd know he was home. She opened them in the morning. On the rare occasion he was up before her, he'd often make breakfast for both of them and then flop down to watch television before she got up. She'd text the boy if she didn't come home.

She rounded the corner into the living room and promptly slammed into an already teetering stack of boxes.

She yelped and lunged forward to save the pile from tumbling down. When it felt steady again, she looked at what she'd caught it by, holding it close to her face to see in the darkness.

A pillow, cross-stitched with a Persian cat.

She sighed. Somehow, she couldn't muster enough energy to be surprised.

"Sharon?" Rusty sounded groggy.

"Go back to bed."

He appeared next to her a moment later, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "Sorry." He already knew she had walked into the boxes again. There had been a loud squawk, jolting him awake, and then soft silence. He had been worried for a moment, and then he realized what had happened.

"Why are you up?"

"I'm going to go running."

"Oh. Okay."

She raised an eyebrow when he didn't move. "Bed, mister. I'll be back in an hour."

"'Kay." He waited until she closed the front door behind herself and then headed to the kitchen. Despite what she'd said, he knew she'd appreciate a hot meal that _wasn't_ from any of the nearby takeout places, and he had the time to provide that.

Besides, he kind of owed it to her. First she found TJ still at the house, and then she'd found all of Lieutenant Provenza's things intermingling with _her_ things, and then he hadn't actually been able to move them again yesterday. . . so. . . The least he could do was make breakfast.

He pulled one of her cookbooks off the small shelf she kept on the counter. He flipped through the pages.

 _Cranberry Buttermilk Scones_

 _Quick Apricot Bread_

 _Low-Fat Apple Muffins_

 _Eggs Benedict with Avocado and Grapefruit Toast_

Rusty made a face. Avocado and grapefruit? He slammed the book shut and pushed it back into its shelf space. He had an idea, and it would even give him enough time to take a shower first.

Slightly less than an hour later, he was shifting the last of the quesadillas to a plate to put on the table. They were one of the few good things his other mother- calling her his real mother no longer seemed accurate- had taught him. Peanut butter, strawberry, and banana in a tortilla, melted together in a frying pan. When times had been good, Sharon Beck would buy real strawberrries, rather than strawberry jam, but either way, it was good.

Sharon Raydor had peanut butter and bananas, but not berries, so Rusty had walked to a small grocer a few blocks from the condo and bought them. It felt good to be able to buy them, even if they were simple and relatively cheap. It was a sign of how far he'd come: from homelessness to employment and a nice home and his own personal police captain.

Maybe Commander, he thought, if what he'd overheard in the break room had any truth. Provenza had once said that Sharon was promised a promotion when she transferred four years before. He had been talking to Tao about retirement and promotions, and Sharon's lack thereof had come up.

It didn't seem like four years, either way.

"Rusty?" The door rattled open, and he heard her quiet tread.

"Kitchen!" He called back.

She came around the corner a moment later, surprise written across her face. "Oh, honey, you didn't have to-"

"But I wanted to," he said. "And I was hungry."

She snorted. "Some things never change."

He grinned. "Nope."


	7. Hostage to Fortune

**A/N- I know many (most) of you are super excited about the canon-ification of Sharon and Andy, but there are a couple of things to keep in mind: a) Provenza didn't once call Shae "Very Special Agent," and b) Alice's real name is Mariana. Also, just FYI, COS is "change of status." Also, I know the majority of the fandom is excited^n about this, but please just remember, not every one ships this ship. It's not the only ship in the harbor. That being said, this story is sticking to canon (: Have fun! (Also, ff is screwballing my formatting. I'm sorry.)**

* * *

Russell Taylor walked out of the office as quickly as he could, one finger still pressed to his lips.

 _Raydor and Flynn? Who could have seen that one coming? Flynn? Rulebook Raydor and Fire-In-The-Hole Flynn?_

He chuckled softly. He was getting soft in his old age. Time was he would have told them to have the paperwork signed, dated, and submitted to him before they even mentioned the word 'dating' to him. While it was true that there wasn't an official fraternization policy, there was still paperwork.

Provenza looked up from a crossword puzzle as Taylor passed him by. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, ho, I'm sure you know all about it," Taylor said with another laugh.

Provenza frowned. _What the hell?_ He glanced towards the Captain's office, and it clicked. She and Flynn were standing close together, talking. The Captain rolled her eyes and smiled at Flynn.

"They finally told you."

It was Taylor's turn to frown. "'Finally?'"

Provenza snorted. "You haven't done very good detective work. . . Chief." He arched his eyebrows. "This has been going on for the better part of a year. Not the official 'dating' persay, but. . ."

"Ballet," Tao called from across the room.

"Dinner," Amy said. "Cooper and I saw them at Figa-"

"They went to a charity convention together," Buzz cut her off. "They've been a thing for a while, Chief. Not that they'd admit to it, though."

"Rusty told them they were 'not dating several times a month,' I believe was how he put it." Provenza slapped his newspaper down.

"What is it with you people and relationships?" Taylor said after a long pause. He looked over the room's occupants and sighed. It wasn't that he minded, but it was just so odd to have a single squad submit so many COS forms within a year.

"Life is short, Chief." This time it was Sanchez who spoke. "You gotta get it while the gettin's good. Things- and people- don't stick around forever."

There was a brief moment of silence, as the deeper meaning of his words struck home, then Provenza spoke.

"Julio, the next coffee run is on you. You've gone and put all sorts of images we didn't need in our minds."

Tao snorted. "I didn't think that until you said it. I motion that you pay the next time. You haven't paid in. . . I don't remember how long."

"Yeah, sir. Motion seconded. Next coffee is on you."

Amy grinned. "Grandé green tea matcha lattés all around. With whip!"

Provenza stared at her, agape. "Was that English or gibberish you just spouted, Sykes?"

She beamed at him. "It's the most expensive thing I've ever ordered from a Starbucks!"

"Ye-ee gods."

Taylor rolled his eyes and resumed his walk back to his office before he heard anything else he didn't want to know.

* * *

"So, Rusty, that was an incredible bit of detective work you did." Sharon wrapped an arm around her youngest child and smiled. He had come in just moments after Andy had left.

He looked up at her. "You're okay that I did that? I mean, I feel like. . . like a jerk for bringing him here and letting you break the news about Al- Mariana- to him."

She sighed. "It's my job to do notifications, not yours. I think you did the right thing."

"I mislead him, though."

She sat down on the edge of her desk and gestured for him to sit next to her. It was a moment before she answered. "I wouldn't necessarily call it misleading. There's a whole spectrum of grey in policing. It's not black and white, though I wish it was."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," she nodded. "It would be so easy if there were good guys and bad guys, and only homicides and natural deaths, if all the rules were more cut and dry."

"But isn't it good that some of the rules are bendy?" He probably wouldn't have found Alice- Mariana, he reminded himself- otherwise.

"Yes, but it makes things infinitely more complicated."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yes."

"Sharon?"

"Mm."

"Um," he paused. It still didn't feel right to have used her tipline to get information about Gus. He had done it nearly a week before, but it still bothered him, and he knew it wouldn't stop until he came clean. "Remember when I, uh, volunteered last week?"

"Mmhmm." She turned and looked at him curiously. "What about it?"

"I, uh," he looked down. "I had ulterior motives."

Her eyebrows arched. "You've been speaking to Lieutenant Provenza too much. Go on." Her mask of professionalism was settling across her features, keeping her expression neutral.

"TJ brought the idea up, but I did it."

"Did what?" She was starting to look concerned, despite her best efforts.

"I put Gus' information on one of those tipper background papers and marked it with a two so that I could know if he was dangerous or not."

She drew back, an odd expression on her face.

"I'm really sorry. I know it was wrong to abuse everyone's trust like that." He kept staring at the ground, face hot. At least it was out. He wouldn't have to hide it any longer.

Sharon blinked. "I don't know whether to be upset or impressed, frankly."

"What?" He looked up in confusion.

"It wasn't right to use the tip-line like that, but you sorted papers for hours, honey. You helped us plenty. And I'm proud of you for not leaping headfirst into a meeting with a potentially dangerous stranger. You've come a long way from a few years ago," she smiled. "I think we can just settle with 'don't abuse a tip-line again,' and leave it at that."

"That's it?"

She smirked at him. "It was a very minor thing with good intentions behind it. To be honest, not much could have come from it even if you had wanted to do something with that information. It's just a very simple, basic background check. What do you want me to do? Dock your allowance?"

"Sharon, I don't get allowance anymore, remember?" They had agreed to stop it when he went to college. She still helped him pay for school and housed him and fed him all the time, but his extra money came from work.

"Hmm, I could. . . take the car keys, stop buying ground hamburger. . . mmm. . ." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, trying to think of other 'punishments.'

"Just so long as I don't walk in on you and Flynn," he muttered.

"Pardon?" She turned to look at him.

"You heard me." He knew she had. He had figured out early on that she had ears like a fox. He couldn't even sneak out to the kitchen for a middle-of-the-night snack without her knowing.

She rolled her eyes. "Maybe that's what I'll do. I'll arrange for Andy to-"

"Ew, God, Sharon, I was joking." He wrinkled his nose. "Ew."

She smiled slightly, but he could see the question in her eyes. "Is this-" she waved a hand between herself and the window separating the murder room from the office. "-okay with you?"

"You and Flynn?"

"Mm."

He thought about it for a moment. "Well, it's not like you guys _do_ anything, and you've totally been hanging out together for, like, ever."

"This is a little different-"

"How?" He honestly didn't see how some paperwork changed anything.

She looked surprised, and shrugged. "It's a little more formal."

"This isn't prom, Sharon."

She rolled her eyes again. "Lieutenant Flynn and I, well, he might come over for dinner sometimes, or-"

"Sharon," he interrupted wryly. "I know what dating is. It's okay. I mean, honestly, he's cool, and I don't really care as long as I don't walk in on anything and he's good to you."

She froze. _As long as he's good to you._ It hadn't crossed her mind that he might think that. "Oh, Rusty." She shook her head. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Caring." She smiled.

"Sure." He still seemed slightly bemused. "Oh, hey, Sharon, this isn't, like, a thirty-day notice, is it?"

"Hmm? Oh, Rusty, no, of course not." She looked at him seriously. "You will always come first. If Andy and I ever reach the point where we'd consider sharing a residence-"

"You can say 'move in together,'" Rusty grinned.

" _Sharing a residence,_ " she reiterated. "I would let you know well in advance. More than thirty days, most likely. And that is not even close to being on the table right now. And if you had any hesitations or concerns, we would wait. You're my child now, and you're stuck with me, for better or worse, but that doesn't mean I won't hear you out." She tilted her head. "However, it doesn't necessarily mean I'll let you make all the decisions, but. . ."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." He was silent for a moment. "Can I make a decision about dinner now?"

"Of course." She wasn't sure quite what he meant.

"Can we get take out from that French place down the street?" He just meant to pick the food, she realized.

"On North Vernon?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." Her eyes narrowed. "You have to tell me what you want, though."

He sighed in exasperation. "Sharon, I don't speak French!"

"Try." She already knew what he wanted, but it amused her to no end to hear him butcher the French.

"Croque monsieur." It came out as _croak mon-sewer._

She laughed. "Croque monsieur." _Kroc misseur._

He rolled his eyes. "You speak French, though."

She grinned. "Oui."

He snorted and hopped off the desk. "I'm not asking Flynn what he wants. He probably speaks French, too, and I don't need everyone laughing at me."

She waited until he was halfway out the door before calling after him. "Rusty."

"Yeah?" He paused, half in, half out.

"Détective Flynn parle le français, oui, mais il ne parler pas couramment la langue. Est-il correct si il se joint á nour pour le dîner?"

He shot her a dark look. He'd caught the words _Detective Flynn_ and _dinner_. " _Come on_."

She smiled sweetly. "Would it be alright if Andy joined us for dinner?" She was surprised that the boy had suggested it.

"Yeah, but you have to figure out what he wants." He was pretty sure he was okay with it. He knew that nothing was really going to change, but it seemed different now that it was COS official.

"Thank you."

He shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "Sure thing, Mom." He froze momentarily, realizing what slipped out, and then deciding he didn't care. "I'll be in the supercubicle."

She watched him go. He was something, this boy of hers.


	8. Wish You Were Here

_**A/N- I'm moving into my new apartment, and I just put together a desk. With two screwdrivers and a screwdriver gun thing. . . One of those electrical things that does all the spinning stuff for you. I was in Montana last week at diabetes camp, so I just saw the eppy today. Also my power just went out, so this may be late haha**_

Sharon contemplated the screwdriver in her hand.

"Sharon?"

Rusty peered around the desk at her. "What are you doing?"

They were sitting on the floor of his room. Somehow, he'd managed to knock the little door on his desk loose. The desk had a little set of shelves on one side, and they were neatly covered by a little wooden door. Or had been, until he'd knocked it off. He honestly hadn't been doing _anything_ _,_ he'd just left it open before bed- on accident- and run into it when he got up to go to the bathroom.

He'd never actually figured out where Sharon kept her repair tools. On the few occasions he'd needed a screwdriver or a hammer to put something together, she'd fetched them herself. When he was finished, he gave her the tools back. . . or forgot about them. Sharon would eventually either ask him for the screwdriver or the hammer or the super glue and he would fish it out of whatever pile of clothes and books it had ended up under. Or she would find them herself. She had a sixth sense for finding things.

"Mm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm just thinking."

"About what?" He reached over and snatched the screwdriver, shoving it into the screw that was most certainly _not_ flush and began to twist it back into place.

"Screwdrivers."

He rolled his eyes. "Helpful. Care to clarify?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Screwdrivers and how to kill people with them."

He nearly dropped the item in question. "What?"

"That's what happened today. Kendall thought it might be a gunshot- it looked like one, admittedly- but Doctor Morales cleaned it up, and. . . It was a Phillipshead screwdriver."

Rusty frowned and looked at the screwdriver in his hand. "Like this?"

"Mmhmm."

He passed it back to her. "I'm done."

She got to her knees to peer over the dest door at his handy work. "Really? You're not just saying that because I've scared you?"

"You? Scare me? Come _on,_ Sharon. Seriously, I've already scared you more than you'll ever scare me."

She shot him a dark glare, but sat back. Apparently he had managed to put in a single screw satisfactorily. "Mm."

He shut the door and stood. "That movie we watched last week? And the other day, when you were coming in late and I was hiding behind-"

"Fine, fine." She held up her hand. "You got me."

He reached his hand out to pull her to her feet. Spry and energetic as she was, she was on the far side of sixty and couldn't move as easily as he.

"Sharon?" he asked when she was standing. "Why did that lady want all of those guys to say they loved her? I mean, why was it _that_ important to her?"

She pushed her hair out of her face and started out of his room. "Well, I think that love is a very powerful emotion. And. . . the desire to be loved. . . It's something that I think we all yearn for."

He wrinkled his nose, and she caught the expression, smiling back at him.

"Not necessarily in the physical sense-"

"Eugh, gross, Sharon!"

She snorted, still smiling. "You're an adult, get over it. Not in the _physical sense_ but in the psychological sense. We all want to have friends and family, to have someone who cares about us."

"Someone who will come looking for us if we end up in a missing persons box." He recalled the conversation from years before.

She nodded. "Yes. We all need-"

"We all need a personal police captain."

She stopped dead in the hallway, eyes bright. "Oh, honey."

He didn't even bother fighting her off as she stepped in for a hug. "Gross, Sharon."

"Gross?" The word was spoken directly into his ear. "I can show you gross, mister."

"If that's going to be you and Fl-" He shrieked loudly as she landed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "MO-OOM!"

"I had another son, don't you forget," she laughed as she threw her arm around his neck. It was tight enough that he couldn't pull away. "I know-" she kissed his forehead. "All the things-" Another one. "That gross out and embarrass my sons." She planted her lips on his forehead and blew a raspberry.

"MOO-OMMMMM! Stop it!" He wriggled from her grasp after another struggle and stood a short distance from her, trying to catch his breath.

She grinned, quirking an eyebrow.

He couldn't tell what she was thinking. He had never been able to read her well, but neither, it seemed, did anyone else. All he could tell was that she was in one of her mischievous, to-hell-with-the-rules moods. It happened occasionally after odd cases, hard cases, or particularly long days. It wasn't like she was always strict and by the book, she had her wry sense of humor and unstoppable giggles, but he had learned to love this side of her as well. The oddly unstoppable, nostalgic Sharon. It was like a puzzle piece in the upended 1000-piece box that was his life. It clicked into place, filled something that was missing. It was like one of those background pieces, the one that you didn't know was missing until you slipped it into place.

He grinned at her. "Can't catch me!" He turned on his heel and ran into the living room. He had never jumped onto her sofa and run across it before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.


	9. Fifth Dynasty

**A/N- I LOST THIS WHOLE DOCUMENT AGAIN. I WAS OVER 2K AND TRYING TO SAVE WHEN WENT DOWN. FRAK ME, DUCKS IN BUCKET, FUCK! Okay, I'm good, I'm good. This finalé was fantastic. The funeral, the Rusty growing up, Rusty and Sharon, Morales, Hobbs, Hobbs' snark, Sharon's black dress, every fucking thing, Sharon's new friend, oh yeah, and NO CLIFFHANGER. (: Yay! Ooh….I just got on and it's fifty-one shades of screwed up…. Did we break it? Also, you can expect updates to be on-time from now on. I've lost three chapters of this story alone, and things come in threes, yeah? So we're good.**

"Sharon?"

"Hmm?" She glanced over at her youngest son. He was taller that her now. When had that happened? She could remember the first time she'd seen him, in Brenda Leigh's interrogation room, dirty, bruised, and half-naked with a black beanie on his head. He stood before her now, tall, in a dapper black suit, eyes bright.

"What are you thinking about?"

"How much you've grown." She disentangled herself from Flynn's arm and wrapped hers around Rusty. "Oh, honey."

"Hi," he said into her shoulder. He looked at Flynn, clearly communicating _what did you do?_

Flynn shrugged. _Nothing. You know her,_ he mouthed. She tended to get slightly emotional around kids, especially hers.

Rusty hugged her in return. "I'm not going anywhere, Sharon."

"Oh, but you could have." They both knew she was talking about the dark days before Brenda. "You could have ended up in so many other-"

"But I didn't. I'm here with you. And Flynn, I guess."

She pulled back. "Is it okay?"

"Sharon." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's fine. You're taking it slower than a car in a school zone. It's okay. I mean, _honestly,_ by the time you get to the point where I might walk in on something, I'll probably be moved out and married."

She gave him a watery smile. "Honey, we may be old, but-"

" _Gross, Sharon_. Not going there." He released her and stepped back, but bumped into her shoulder for good measure. "Can you tell everyone thanks from me?"

"For what?"

He frowned. "You know." He waved an arm back at the cemetery. Although most of the cost had been coved by DDA Hobbs' the State clause, he knew there were some extras that the team had chipped in for. There were flowers- bright ones, not the pasty lilies and while roses that everyone usually got- and a priest, not a police chaplain. And then there had been actual officers to carry Ali- _Mariana's_ casket. "Everything."

"Why don't you tell them yourself?"

"Isn't everyone going home?"

"We were thinking of going out for a late lunch." It was nearly three.

"Oh." He thought about it. All the places Sharon like were small, quirky places that were probably on some Buzzfeed 'best local secrets' list. "Will we all fit?" Emphasis on _small._

"I was thinking we could go to Springbok, so if we get a couple tables outside in the front, we should be fine."

"Okay." He paused again. "Isn't that all the way across town?" It was literally about as far away as they could get, if he was remembering the right place.

"It's past rush hour. I think we'll be alright."

"Okay. Can I see if Gus wants to come, though?"

 _When did he get so considerate?_ "Of course."

Rusty knew the man probably would want to be alone for awhile, but he wanted to do . . . well, _something._ It sucked losing family, and the least he could do was invite Gus along. It felt good to be included, even if it was only a gesture. He nodded and turned away from Sharon to return to the grave.

"When did he grow up?" Sharon leaned into Flynn's side and let him wrap his arm around her.

"He grew up a long time ago. We just didn't know it."

"When did he mature?" she rephrased.

"Now that, I can answer."

She looked up at her. . . _what were they?_ It was past the point of friendship, but she didn't feel comfortable calling him a boyfriend at her age, and they certainly weren't lovers. _Andy,_ she settled on. She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"He's matured with you. Remember all the kicking and screaming when he first got here?"

"Literally."

"Yeah. And look at him now. It's all on you, hon."

She rolled her eyes and looked away. "No."

"Yeah." He squeezed her side. "Okay, maybe some of it was Buzz and Provenza bossing him around-"

She snorted.

"-but it's mostly on you." He could see Rusty returning, without Gus, so he turned her back towards the squad and began walking. "Come on."

Rusty caught up a few steps later, jogging up to them. "Gus wants to stay here for a while."

Sharon nodded. "Alright." She glanced at her son. "Will you still come?"

"What's the alternative?" Rusty grinned. "Miss some free food? I don't think so."

She giggled and shook her head. "Some things never change."

He shot her an odd look as they caught up to the others. "What?"

She pulled away from Andy, slightly, but still holding hands. There was no need to rub their relationship in everyone's faces. "I'm very proud of you."

He relaxed. He wasn't sure what the correct response was, or if there was one, but he knew what he wanted to say. "I'm proud of you, too."

* * *

Rusty stared at the menu. He had forgotten that the entire menu was weird food. They had already ordered drinks, and he'd managed that alright. He'd just asked for Sprite. There was an assortment of glasses on the table now. White wine for Sharon and Andrea, black coffee for Provenza, cranberry juice for Flynn. The other table was the 'children's table,' as Provenza had so neatly titled it, with Sykes and Cooper, Buzz, Sanchez, and Tao. Rusty was fairly certain Amy and Cooper were the reason for the name. They had been not-so-subtley playing footsie until Coop's knee had bumped the table and set the whole thing rocking.

Sharon laughed and Rusty looked up.

"Having a hard time with the menu?"

He glanced down at it. "Sort of. I don't remember what I got last time."

Sharon shrugged. "I guess that means you have to try something new," she said innocently.

He rolled his eyes. "They have burgers, I'll be fine, Sharon."

She smiled again. "Did you read the description? There are two choices: it's buffalo or one topped with-" she looked down. "Monkey gland sauce."

There was a choking noise next to her and Rusty turned to find that Provenza had spit out a sip of coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me just fine, Lieutenant."

He stared at her. "Where did you take us, woman? I'm starting to think we've ended up west of Oz again."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know. We might have gone east."

Provenza frowned. By this time, the others were listening in. "East?"

"The Wicked Witch of the East," Sharon clarified.

"Me," Andrea spoke up at the same time.

Tao barked out a laugh and Andrea smiled roguishly.

"Ye gods," Provenza muttered. "First we have to deal with the original Wicked Witch hooking up with the head monkey, and now her sister is back from the dead. What next?"

Sanchez tipped his chair back so he could reach the 'adult' table. "You know, sir, I think we still have a box of those stuffed monkeys in with the Halloween stuff in storage."

"I didn't realize we had Halloween decorations," Sharon said curiously.

Rusty glanced at Buzz and grinned. He had heard a story before Sharon did, for once.

Provenza shot Sanchez a dark look. "We just had some stuff left over from our days with the Chief. Several years old now, probably all out-of-date."

Sanchez shrugged. "I don't know, sir. We can at least check. Don't you have the key?"

Tao joined in, trying not to grin. "We've got monkeys, a miniature broomstick, some lights, and. . . Oh, there's something else in there. . . Buzz, help me out."

Buzz rolled his eyes, but finished the list nonetheless. "An Elphaba doll with the Captain's name-tag on it."

Sharon's jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"I told you-!" Provenza started, but was cut off by Rusty's laughter.

"I lost a name-tag when I first started working with your division, back when Brenda Leigh was here." Sharon stared at the lieutenant. "Is that where it went?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"How-?"

"We told Flynn to act like he was pissed at some scumbag while you were in the murder room-"

"Not like that's hard," Amy muttered.

"-and then we just had Sanchez sneak down to your office."

"It was on your desk," the man supplied. "I just told Elliot and Ray that you'd forgotten your glasses and you trusted me the most out of any of us."

Sharon shrugged and nodded. "That's probably still true."

Provenza clutched his chest. "Captain, you wound me."

She snorted. "Just giving back what I get."

* * *

Sharon lay down on the floor of her condo and stretched luxuriously. She had gotten a new rug, an orange one to match the red sofa, and she appreciated every soft, fluffy fiber of it.

"Sharon?"

She raised her head. "Mm?"

"Did I do the right thing?"

Rusty had changed into his pajamas, a blue shark patterned set that Ricky had gotten him for his birthday. He flopped down on the sofa and watched her. She had changed, too, not into pajamas, but shorts and an overlarge sweater, contrary as it seemed.

"With what?"

"Gus and Mariana and Paloma."

She sighed, drawing one leg up to a horizontal passé and twisting her shoulders the opposite way to stretch her back. "I think so."

"Really?"

"Yes." She held her position for a minute, then switched sides, turning away from her youngest child. "Think about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you were Gus, wouldn't you want to know where your sisters were?"

She could practically hear Rusty frown and think it over.

"I guess, yeah."

"Think about it this way: you wanted to know where your mom was, after we picked you up, and even after the whole bus ticket debacle."

"Yeah," he said slowly.

"Why was that?" Sharon sat up and reached for her toes. A full day and night at the office always left her feeling like a crushed aluminum can. She clearly wasn't going to fit a swim or run into her evening, so she decided to stretch.

Rusty drew a pillow up under his chin. He might as well get comfortable; he was going to be there for a while. "I just wanted to know that she was okay."

She swung her arms over her head, bent one, and grabbed that elbow with her free hand. "And. . . you didn't particularly want to live with her again or anything."

"Yeah. So?"

"Think about how much you wanted to find her, and then think about Gus again."

Gus wanted to live with his sisters. _He still loved-_ Rusty corrected himself. _Loves them. He wants the best for them, and he was the best thing for them, at the time._ "He wanted them to have the best he could provide for them, and he needed to leave home to get money and a place for them, and then they were gone, and he didn't know. . . anything, I guess."

"Exactly."

"He wanted to do right and help them. And now. . ."

"They're both in better places, as sad as that may be."

Rusty nodded. "At least he knows? Is that the moral of this?"

"Mmhm. He knows. He did everything he could for Mariana, and now she's at rest. We caught her killer and she has a place he can visit. As for Paloma-"

"She has a family again."

"Yes, and chances are Gus will get to visit her as much as he likes, really. I talked with Paloma's adoptive pa-"

"You talked to them?" Rusty sat bolt upright.

"I did." Sharon swung her arms in a circle, stood, touched her toes, and then sat on the sofa next to Rusty.

"Are they nice? Do they have a house? Do they have other kids? What ab-"

"Rein it in," she smiled. "You do realize this-"

"Off the record, yeah, Sharon, I know." He rolled his eyes. "Just because I joined a newspaper doesn't mean-"

"That you'll quote every word from my lips. I know they aren't _all_ gold."

He snorted despite himself. "But Paloma's family?" he pressed.

"They seem very nice," she said slowly. "They obviously passed all the background checks for DCFS. They have two other children, a son in high school and a daughter a couple years younger than Paloma. The kids both seem nice, too. I think the boy was in the paper a while back. . ." she trailed off, thinking. "For a choir scholarship, if I remember correctly. And they have a dog."

"Oh." Rusty was a little surprised. It seemed like such a normal, nice family. "Cool."

"What?" She had clearly read his face.

"It's just so. . . ordinary."

She laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean. . . they're totally normal."

"And I'm not?"

He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Well, you live in a condo that cost easily half a million dollars-"

"LA is expensive."

"Your daughter is a professional dancer, and your son is a computer genius."

"Lots of people have talented kids."

"And you're a police captain. Tell me, Sharon, how many kids in social service get adopted by cops?"

She laughed then. "You got me there."

"And then there's your tea drawer. Don't even get me started there."

"Just because you don't like licorice-"

"Doesn't mean you're weird, yeah, but there are so many other even weirder teas in there." He leaned against her shoulder. "Do you think they'll be okay?"

"Gus and Paloma?"

"Yeah."

"Eventually, yes. Paloma is safe and happy. Gus has a job, and he'll have a place of his own soon, with any luck. They know where the other is, and I think that yes, they'll be okay one day."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too." She stood. "Hold on a minute." She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two small bottles. In the semi-darkness, Rusty couldn't see what they were and he tensed for a moment before recognizing the bottles as Sharon got closer.

"Coffee? At this hour?" he teased.

She shrugged. "It's the only thing in the fridge right now, and it'll take more than one bottle of this to keep me up at night. I figure you're planning on being up for a while yet?"

"Yeah."

"What video game are you trying to beat tonight?" she asked as she lead him towards the balcony.

"Five Nights at Freddy's," he mumbled. He was fairly certain Sharon may have heard some swearing and shrieking the night before when she came home to change clothes.

"I'm guessing by your tone that it's some sort of horror game?"

"Yeah, sort of."

She sat down in one of the chairs on the patio, and passed him one of the bottles.

"Salted caramel latté? See? Weird."

She laughed. "The Perseid shower is tonight."

"Strike two. What is it anyways?"

"A meteor shower."

"Shooting stars?"

"Mmhmm. I thought we could watch for some." She reached over and ruffled his hair. "I'm glad you're here. We've had to make a lot of hard choices the past few years, but somehow they all ended up leading to the right end."

There was a long pause, and then Rusty finally spoke. "This is just the beginning."

Sharon smiled into the night. "I'm glad you agree, because I'm not going anywhere, mister."

"Hey, Mom?"

"Mm?"

"I love you."


	10. Four of a Kind

_**A/N- Caw, caw, mothershippers. I'm back! That was sooooo adorable. I can't believe Rusty is going to mow Hobbs' lawn for EIGHT YEARS. I guess if she and his mother and Grove are all going to get together to get Rusty into UCLA- presumably on scholarship?- then eight years is more than fair payment.**_

 _ **I'm also assuming that Grove, Sharon, and- presumably- Andrea got Rusty some sort of scholarship to UCLA. He'd defs qualify, and it's**_ **expensive** _ **, haha.**_

 _ **I meant to publish this earlier this morning, but something glitched. Either way, it worked out fine. Defyingnormalcy and Kayryn, this goes out to you. I saw your comments on my lawn-mowing excitement just as I finished this.**_

Rusty watched the scenery flash by as Sharon's small car climbed the hill. He knew Sharon was barely going the speed limit- 30- but it felt as though she were whipping around the tight turns. He flinched as a car shot past them going downhill.

Sharon laughed. "You haven't driven up here before?" They were on Laurel Canyon Boulevard, a steep climb up to Mulholland, and one of the many Laurel Canyon roads.

"Not in a while," he muttered. "Where does DDA Hobbs live, anyways?"

They were driving to visit the lawyer. For Sharon, it was a social occasion, one she had apparently been planning for some while. For Rusty, it was work. It wouldn't be warm much longer, but for now, he could mow Hobbs' lawn. He had tried to get both Andrea and Sharon to tell him how big the lawn was, but both had laughed and told him nothing, although Sharon had let him down easier than Hobbs had.

 _"Oh, no. You agreed to this," the blonde said with a wicked grin. "I'm signing off on your papers, and you're mowing the lawn. Sharon knows where I live, and she's been planning to come by for a while now. Perhaps you can join her."_

Rusty gripped the _oh-shit_ handle as Sharon took a sharp turn off Laurel Canyon, onto a smaller side street.

"You really don't trust my driving do you?"

He shrugged.

"Honey, I've been living here for. . . multiple decades, and most of that time was spent on the force. I can drive quite well, thank you."

"Sure, Mom."

She laughed again as she pulled into a narrow dirt and stone driveway. "We're here."

"Thank God."

They both got out of the car, and Rusty followed Sharon down the driveway. Both sides were bordered by tall bushes that he couldn't see past.

"This is where she lives?"

"Mmhmm."

They turned a corner, and Sharon opened a small gate that bridged the gap between the hedges.

"Oh, wow."

Hobbs' house was a somewhat boxy number, white and grey, and Rusty could see both a front yard and a back. The back seemed smaller, though, if the treetops were any indication. There were large windows, and he could see Andrea Hobbs through them.

She stepped out of the house and waved at them. "I'm glad you could make it," she called. "Shar, I've got lunch going inside. You want to check on it and I'll give Rusty the tour?"

"Sure." Sharon hugged her friend briefly and then breezed past, into the house.

Rusty glanced at Andrea. She was dressed in jeans and an overlarge corduroy shirt, more casual than he'd ever seen her.

"Thanks."

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "What for? You're the one doing the hard work."

"Yeah, but you signed off on my stuff, and, uh. . ." He paused. "You and Sharon hang out with Judge Grove, don't you?" It was a guess, honestly. Grove and Sharon could have been doing work things, he supposed, but the judge's comment about textbooks was uncanny.

"Ah." She nodded. "We do."

"And you had something to do with. . . UCLA?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Come on, I'll show you around."

He followed her through the front yard, then up a couple steps to the back. There was a pool in the back and a garden, leaving little room for grass. He thought it was going to be the easiest job he'd ever had until she showed him the mower.

"It's a manual one, sorry. I never got the hang of the gas motor ones, so you'll have to push it."

It was a thin, black machine, very simple, with a pair of rotating blades at the front.

"If it's any consolation, there's steak salad for lunch. It'll probably be ready when you're done out here."

If Andrea Hobbs was the part of the reason he had a scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the state, he'd do all the home maintenance she needed. Well, everything he could figure out how to do.

"Thanks."

She nodded. "Don't thank me yet. You've still got eight years to go." She left him outside, and within a few minutes, he could hear music and the faint sounds of conversation.

He turned his attention back to the lawn mower. The sooner he started, the sooner he'd be done.

* * *

Andrea walked back into the kitchen and accepted the glass of iced tea Sharon passed her. The kitchen was like the rest of the house, light and airy with a pair of large windows. Sharon was taking the steak out of the sink, where Andrea had been thawing it.

"Eight years?"

Andrea nodded. "That was our agreement. We dickered about it for a while, but. . ." she shrugged. "I honestly don't think I'll make him carry the whole thing out."

Sharon glanced up. "Whyever not?"

"Well, for starters, how likely is it he'll be here for the next eight years? I mean, four years, yes, maybe six if he wants a Master's, but if he goes for much graduate schooling, my guess is that he transfers out. He's been here his whole life. He'll want to travel."

Sharon nodded. "I hate to say it, but I agree."

Andrea took the rest of her salad fixings out of the fridge. "What is it Grove told you? 'Back off, Mommy?'"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "'Mama.' He said 'Back off, Mama.' Please never call me Mommy again, it makes me feel like a young soccer mom again, and those days are far behind me now, thank God."

Andrea laughed. "Either way. He's growing up, Shar. He's really coming into his own, though. It's honestly rather impressive. I mean, three yeas ago, if you'd told me this bratty little kid on crutches would be wrapping decorated judges and lawyers around his little finger while closing an outstanding missing person's report, I probably would have taken you to the hospital for a concussion exam."

"Wrapping lawyers around his fingers? Did he find your soft side?"

"I didn't treat him like a criminal suspect, but keep in mind he's mowing the lawn for years to come. Shar, he'll be twenty-seven by the time this deal is up."

"Oh God, don't remind me." Sharon turned around and looked at Andrea. "That means I'll be sixty-six and you'll be-"

"No!" Andrea yelped. "You aren't allowed to say that aloud." She pulled dishes down from the cabinet. "Where do you see yourself then? You've qualified for retirement already."

"I don't know, honestly. I mean, there's Rusty, wherever he ends up. Although, it would be funny if he does end up being a lawyer."

"He's stuck with me and Grove now, on top of you. Keep going, though."

"Ricky likely isn't going anywhere for awhile. He really likes his job. Emily. . . she'll be getting to the end of her career."

"She'd be what, mid-thirties by then?"

"Mm." Sharon nodded. "That's about the end of professional dancing. It really takes a toll, physically and mentally. A lot of them go into teaching. I don't know if she'd want to stay in New York, come back here, or if there's somewhere else entirely."

"But what about you?"

"I don't know. I'd like to keep working for a while yet. It'd be nice to retire as a Commander or an Assistant Chief. I probably ought to start thinking of a replacement for the Women's Coordinator position, though. I still hold it, but. . . I think it might be time for the younger generation to start stepping into these higher positions."

"Do you have your eye on anyone?"

Sharon set the steak in the pan Andrea had been heating. "Yes, actually. Anne McGinnis? Remember her?"

"That little blonde bloodhound?"

Sharon snorted. "Yep, that's her. I like her a lot for the position."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm. She's smart, she's driven, she cares deeply for her officers, and she's going to be here for a while. At the risk of sounding callous, this job is her life. She lives for the uniform."

Andrea nodded. "I remember. She'd be a good choice. She wouldn't back down from Taylor or Pope, either."

"God no."

"Could I be nosy?" Andrea didn't look up from chopping tomatoes and bits of blue cheese.

"Since when are you not? You're my best friend, 'Drea, I think you have that right."

"Andy?" Andrea held her breath. Sharon had been touchy about the subject for the better part of a year now, remaining oddly close-mouthed. She rarely spoke about Flynn, giving only brief answers when asked specific questions.

She had been skittish with relationships ever since her initial split with Jack, which Andrea deeply resented him for. Sharon was a beautiful woman, smart and funny, as well, but she had never really enjoyed any kind of romantic interaction. She was jumpy during any date she had, hated to move quickly, and- as she had confessed to Andrea earlier in the spring- hadn't shared more than a kiss with a man since the last time she had kicked Jack out.

Andrea could barely believe that Sharon kept her sanity. She believed the story- nothing could be more utterly Sharon- but couldn't imagine living so. . . austerely.

Sharon sighed and flipped the steak over. "It's rather hard to swallow."

Andrea snorted and Sharon shot her a dark glare.

"Sorry."

"No, you're not," Sharon muttered. She shook her head, trying not to smile before turning serious again. "It's more than I've been involved in since, well, since Jack. We're going _very_ slowly, which I'm grateful he's being patient about. I just. . . I don't. . . I still don't feel ready for all the entanglement that a relationship brings. I mean, on one hand it's nice, but on the other hand, it's like giving someone the keys to your castle and trusting that they aren't going to walk in and break it apart from the inside."

And there it was. The true, underlying terror that defined Sharon Raydor's love life, or lack thereof.

"Oh, honey, come here." Andrea pulled Sharon away from the stove and hugged her tightly from behind. "I think he means the best-"

"Jack meant the best."

"Jackass couldn't tell up from down. Forget him for a moment. I think Flynn means well, and he's experienced. He's not some kid fresh out of undergrad. He deserves a chance." _You deserve a chance._ _"_ However this turns out, I'll be here for you. If you decide to get married again someday and you need someone to push your wheelchair down the aisle because you're so far past sixty-six, I'll do it. If you end up needing a sleepover with a blanket fort and a bonfire where we burn some photos, so be it."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sharon turned to look at Andrea. "Whatever would I have done without you?"

"For starters, you would have burned your steak more often-"

Sharon spun on one heel and quickly flipped the stove off. "Dammit."

Andrea laughed and squeezed Sharon's shoulder before getting a third glass out for Rusty. "I'm always here for you. For the next eight years, at least."

"I thought you said you'd cut him some slack." Sharon raised an eyebrow.

"I haven't made up my mind yet." Andrea grinned wolfishly. "Now, compose yourself before I bring our resident handyman in for lunch."

"I don't know if I'd go so far as to call him a handyman."

"We'll get there." Andrea stepped outside though the sliding glass door. "Russell!" she shouted.

There was a momentary pause before the reply came back. "Deputy District Attorney Hobbs!"

Sharon rolled her eyes.

"Lunch!"

"Coming!"

Andrea stuck her head back inside. "I like this arrangement already. Free lawn care. Oh yeah, and lunch with you, I guess. I'm assuming you're going to keep coming with Rusty. Knowing you. . . "

"You're a brat."

"You still love me."

Sharon snorted. "Just keep telling yourself that."

"What was that?" Andrea stepped back into the kitchen and neatly cornered Sharon.

"You heard me."

Andrea lunged forward and wrapped one arm around Sharon's neck while ruffling her hair with the other.

"Oh, God, Andrea!"

"Say it!" Andrea laughed.

In response, Sharon reached up and tried to grab Andrea's hand. The blonde didn't resist and let Sharon straighten up and blow her hair out of her face.

Sharon eyed her friend warily. "How about a deal?"

"A deal?"

"I'll love you most of the time, just not when it involves you messing with my hair. "

Andrea nodded. "Fair enough. I can agree to that."

Rusty stepped into the house, bringing the pungent scent of grass clippings. "Did you guys just make a deal involving my future without me? Again?"

Andrea sent Sharon a sideways glance. "Close enough. Your mother just promised her eternal soul to me."

Rusty nudged his mother with one shoulder. "That makes two of us." He kicked his shoes off on the mud rug and walked past the two women. Can we eat now?"

Andrea snorted. "Sure thing, kid."


	11. Blackout

_**A/N- Today I was Agent Scully. On my honor, one of my neuro questions was "The government has (finally) released the alien bodies from Area 51. You are one of the pathologists taking part in the autopsy..." Haha, anyway, I finally saw the ep. HOLY SHIT SHARON IS SCREWED. WHAT DID SHE DO TO HERSELF?! On the other hand, so much BAMFing from everyone- Andrea, Amy. . . Rusty figuring out Slider's illiteracy. This may be my favorite episode yet. But why the hell was Emily talking about Flynn to Jack, especially after Sharon told her to keep it on the DL?**_

* * *

Sharon froze. Her jaw dropped slightly and she glanced at Provenza. His expression mirrored hers.

 _Oh, shit._

"Chief, ah, I can explain-"

Taylor raised his eyebrows dangerously. "I sincerely hope so, Captain. Your office?"

She could feel the blood drain from her face, and sincerely hoped her color didn't change. Maybe her foundation would hide her sudden terror.

"Lieutenant Pr-"

"Ah, ah, just you for now, Captain." Taylor waited for her to walk past before following.

She slipped her hands into her pockets and clenched them tightly. She paused as she reached the office door. "Thank you, everyone. Superb work today." She nodded tightly and slipped into her office, holding the door for Taylor.

Sykes stared at the window as the shades rattled shut. "What happened? Is Lieutenant Flynn okay?"

Provenza sighed deeply as the others turned to look at them. He sat in his chair and fiddled with his stapler for a minute. "Flynn is alright, generally speaking. He didn't want all of you to worry."

"About what, sir?" Even Julio looked concerned.

"So, when he fell off that car, his doctor figured out he had a blood clot." Provenza could see the pieces clicking together in Tao's eyes.

"High blood pressure, blood clot. I take it he's on anticoagulants? Heparin?"

Provenza shrugged.

Tao nodded, mostly to himself. "And it's a fairly major clot, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah."

There was a long silence.

Hobbs finally spoke, running a hand through her hair. "He told you and Sharon, and she had to tell her kids, because he's still staying with her."

"Yep."

"She and I talk," Andrea said in response to the curious glances. "Jackass."

Provenza snorted. "Somehow I don't think even Jack Raydor realized how big a can of worms he opened."

Andrea grimmaced. "I've got to go, sorry. I hope it goes okay. I'll have her call me later." She waved and disappeared down the hall.

"What do you mean 'big can of worms'?" Amy asked hesitantly.

There was a large collective sigh from the room's other occupants.

"Taylor's wanted her out of the office since the day she got in," Provenza began. "You knew the Chief- Brenda Leigh-"

"Johnson, yeah. She was a bit of a legend." Amy frowned.

"Well, the captain was brought in rather suddenly as her replacement. It was. . . complicated. The Pope wanted her in, Taylor wanted her where she was. I'm sure you know, but she was Internal Affairs at the time. She was promised a promotion with the transfer to our department, but it ended up being a lateral promotion."

"She transferred four years ago, and the promotion freeze ended almost two years ago. . ."

"Yeah," Provenza said grimly. "She never got the promotion, and honestly, she deserves more than that one promotion. She gave up an entire career in professional standards to clean up Major Crimes. She should be a Deputy Chief by now," he added angrily.

There was another silence.

Tao picked the story up. "She never got the promotion, and in transferring, apparently gave up a nice offer to consult for the convention center. She uses that and potential retirement as bargaining chips, as she's literally got nothing else."

Amy frowned. "So why did they bring her in?"

Provenza smiled faintly. "They transferred the Wicked Witch because they needed someone to make us look pretty to the public again. She was the best for the job; she had the experience."

"And Taylor is willing to get rid of her now," Julio said softly.

"She's played her part, and now she's a liability," Provenza said. "She lets us have our way occasionally, she bucks against the reins. Interdepartmental fraternization," he added with a half-smile. "Taylor was just waiting for the right time to stab her in the back."

"Again," Tao muttered.

"It's a chess game," Buzz said bluntly. "She refuses to let them make her into a pawn, and they refuse to promote her up the ladder."

Amy nodded. "And now we wait," she said, turning back toward her Captain's office.

"And now we wait," Provenza echoed.

* * *

Sharon sat down in her chair, hands clamped together. "Chief-"

"No," Taylor cut her off. "I don't want your excuses. We've worked together long enough that we can cut the bullshit, Sharon."

She looked down. This was the end. She was tenured, but she had used retirement as the ace in _her_ pocket for far too long, and Taylor would use it to shove her out the door.

"What aren't you telling me?"

She sighed.

"That's what I was afraid of." He sat down across from her. "Look, Captain- Sharon- you turned in all the paperwork for departmental fraternization. I'm sure you read each and every word of it. It's vague in places, I know, but part of it was about favoritism. Do you remember?"

She chewed her lip. "Yes, sir."

"Then you know that changes in medical status need to be reported, i _mmediately, regardless of your personal affiliation with the officer in question_."

"I'm sorry." She could feel fear gripping her chest. It wasn't like her to break the rules. It wasn't like her to bend them, usually, and now here she was, in trouble because she'd bent- broken, honestly- the rules.

 _Take a deep breath, Sharon. It's okay. It's okay. They can't do anything you haven't already anticipated._

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't fix this. You didn't report it."

She rallied herself. "I learned of it yesterday, Chief. We were on a 24-hour deadline."

He nodded. "Fair. But how often was I with you during that time? How long would it have taken to say _oh, hey, I need to give you an update on Lieutenant Flynn_?"

"Chief, I think it would have taken a while to get you up to speed. Time we didn't have. Lieutenant Flynn's condition isn't critical, and the case was."

Taylor leaned back in his seat and stared at her. "This is starting to turn into a mess on the scale of some of Chief Johnson's."

Sharon sucked in a sharp breath. "Sir."

He raised his eyebrows. "The defense lawyer is your ex-husband, and he withheld information to claim part of a civil suit against the LAPD."

"I don't have any contr-"

"I'm not done. The prosecution is your friend-"

"Andrea-"

"You and she ended up dragging an innocent man through jail, trial, questioning. . . all before finding an entirely different suspect. There's still a good chance that we will see civil action as an outcome of this."

"My department isn't at fault!" Sharon burst out angrily. "We were not part of the original investigation."

"Be that as it may." Taylor shifted. "Now, tell me about Flynn."

Sharon pursed her lips.

"I know you and Provenza both know."

"A minute, please, sir."

"You're of age for retirement."

She shot him a look that could have frozen wine. "Sir. I was collecting my thoughts."

Taylor hesitated for a moment. He had well and truly awoken the Wicked Witch that had lain dormant in Sharon Raydor's soul.

"Lieutenant Flynn came to me yesterday morning," she started icily. "He had been to a doctor's follow-up regarding his accident last week. They found a coagulation- a clot-" she paused and took a deep breath. "A clot in his carotid artery."

Taylor froze. _Oh._ However much Flynn annoyed him, he wouldn't wish _that_ on the man.

She quirked an eyebrow. "He's taking anticoagulants for it, and he's under constant supervision."

"You're here," he said unnecessarily.

"Patrice has agreed to watch over him when Rusty and I are unavailable."

"So he's still living with you. I don't recall seeing the documentation."

She had done the paperwork, and she knew it. "I put in a medical notice. It's temporary, so I saw no reason for Lieutenant Flynn to put in for a change of residency."

Taylor stared at her intently. "You know, Captain. I really don't feel like arguing about this right now."

"That makes two of us."

"You realize I'll be reporting to Chief Pope."

"I'd expect nothing less, sir."

He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"This will have more consequences."

"Of course, sir."

"Any further deviations, though, Captain, and you might find yourself facing some of your old associates from the PSB."

She kept his gaze. "I'd love for a chance to catch up with them. It's so busy around here."

He snorted and got up. "Captain."

"Sir." She let him out of the office, and waited in the doorway until Taylor was gone before turning her attention back to her squad.

"Well?" Provenza looked at her.

She sighed. "We may have won this round, but we need to tread carefully, lady, gentlemen."

"We've got your back, ma'am," Sanchez didn't look up. "Don't worry."


	12. Reality Check

_**A/N- Sorry it took so long to get this up. Enjoy.**_

Rusty tried to look nonchalant as he answered Sharon.

"Call 911 first, then call you."

"Mm." She smiled and hugged him before vanishing out the door.

Rusty cautiously- quietly- turned back towards Flynn. The man was still sitting on the sofa in his green robe, literally twiddling his thumbs. It wasn't like Rusty was seriously worried about having to call 911, but. . .

He couldn't imagine what he would tell Sharon if something happened.

 _Hey Mom, so I'm calling you from the back of an ambulance. . ._

 _Sharon? Yeah, um, so you said to call you second. . ._

 _Uh. . ._

He was just praying Flynn didn't keel over.

"Hey, kid?"

Flynn almost never called him by name. It didn't bother Rusty, though. As far as he could remember, everyone in Sharon's squad except Buzz and Amy called him 'kid.' It wasn't derogatory or meant to make him feel junior to them. It just was.

"Yeah?"

"What are your plans for the day?"

"Uh, Slider's attourney is coming by, but that's about it."

"Okay. Sounds good."

Rusty nodded. "I'm just going to, uh, work on some stuff on my laptop. I'll have my headphones in, but just call if you need anything." He suddenly remembered the earbuds were in his room. "I'm just going to go grab them."

"I'm not an invalid," Flynn called as Rusty walked away.

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Rusty replied. True to his word, he went straight to the desk in his room and pulled his headphones out. Before leaving, he took a moment to look around.

He was still sleeping on the sofa. It wasn't that bad; it was actually pretty comfortable, but it was strange. It felt like his bed was having an affair, which he supposed wasn't altogether incorrect.

He didn't mind having Flynn over for a semi-permeant sleepover. It was nice to have someone else for Sharon to pick on. With all the medical stuff Flynn had going on, she was slightly less organized, so she couldn't keep tabs on literally everything that ever happened. Rusty was relieved. Not that he was tired of living with Sharon- far from it- it was just nice not to have cops constantly hovering over him. Though Andrea Hobbs and Judge Grove were fast replacing Sharon in the hovering category.

It was just strange. Sharon still slept by herself in her room, Flynn was in her former guest room, and Rusty was on the sofa. He wasn't sure if she was trying to keep herself so disconnected for his benefit or hers.

He hoped he wasn't keeping her back. Yeah, it was weird, seeing her. . . in a relationship with someone, but it wasn't altogether unexpected. That's what people did. He knew that well enough from watching his other mother.

He also hoped that she wasn't holding herself back. That seemed like the more likely option, though. No one had said it- though Provenza came close- but Jack had really done a number on her.

The last time Jack came around, he had completely screwed her over. Again. From the snippets she had said about her past, Jack had just continually used her and left her. Not that she phrased it like that, but it was obvious.

Rusty didn't understand it. Not really. How could someone as smart and level-headed as Sharon let another person walk all over them? Even if she had once loved him, there was a limit, wasn't there?

She had paid for Jack's college, and he had gotten her pregnant. She ran the household and he lost all of her money and then some more. Then he had left.

Rusty didn't get why she didn't shut him out then. He remembered her saying something a few years before about finances, and Catholicism, and love. . . but honestly. There hadn't been any love lost in the murder room the previous week.

From what he'd gleaned from the team, there had been decades worth of back and forth, of Jack returning and Sharon letting him, and then him leaving her behind.

He didn't think Flynn would do that. Even if he was physically able- Rusty snorted- he didn't seem like that kind of guy.

He glanced around the rom as he walked out. It looked the same as always. There was a suit draped over the desk chair, and a small suitcase open on the overlarge footstool. It was clearly Flynn's. There were ties and neatly folded dress shirts, and a toiletry bag on top, but that was the only sign of the man's presence.

When he stepped back into the hallway, he could hear Flynn snoring softly. Rusty paused.

He chewed on his lip. It was okay, right? Sort of. Well, not really, but it had the right intent. Sort of.

Sometimes Sharon asked him to do a sweep of the condo looking for any dirty dishes that had been squirreled away somewhere. Usually, she meant please get the dish from your midnight snack out of your room so I can wash it, but it nearly as often meant I also have an old tea mug in my room, could you grab it, too?

Rusty made his move. There weren't any dishes in his room, and Sharon's door was open already. It wasn't an invasion of privacy or anything, really.

The room was _so_ Sharon.

There were no clothes laying around. There was one pair of heels by the dresser, but that was it. The blinds were open, letting sunlight stream in, and the bed was so neatly made Rusty was fairly sure he could bounce coins off the yellow coverlet.

Rusty looked away and walked to the nightstand on Sharon's side of the bed. He didn't know why she had bought two stands and lamps when she only slept on the right side. He knew that because that's were her leftover mugs always were.

She'd clearly kept both tables because she used them. They were both cluttered with files and papers. Occasionally her laptop and a book or two made it onto the tabletops. They seemed to be the one place messiness was tolerated.

He had laughed at her once, because he'd found three mugs on the nightstands after a week where she had been exceedingly busy. There had been a couple precarious stacks of manilla folders, both her personal laptop and the work one, artist sketches, sticky notes, multiple pens, and her spare glasses in the midst.

Sure enough, this time she'd left a mug on top of a paperback novel. He grabbed the cup and glanced at the cover. _A Ring of Endless Light._ He didn't know it. There was a brochure poking out of it for something called Hemochron.

He stepped back into the hallway, half closing the door behind himself. On one hand, he felt bad for having gone on an unauthorized recon of Sharon's room, but on the other, the relief he felt at seeing just Sharon's things in her room far outweighed any other feelings.

She probably would have told him the truth if he'd asked, but. . . there was just always that seed of doubt when it came to his mothers' relationships. The fundamental wrongness of so many of Sharon Beck's boyfriends had scarred him in some sense. There was just some primal fear involved with knowing his mom was, like, with someone. It always signaled upheaval: a move, new rules, new friends, new circumstances.

At least, that's what Dr. Joe said.

He sighed.

Sharon, his Sharon, Sharon Raydor had promised that she would always tell him the truth. If nothing else, she would be honest.

He felt bad for having snooped, but not hugely so. He didn't go through anyone's things, he just retrieved his earbuds and Sharon's mug. It was something that could have happened normally.

He sighed and made a promise to himself.

 _If you have any more questions, just ask Sharon. She wants you to be here; she'll tell the truth._

He remembered one of their first conversations about honesty, more than three years before. He had still been camped out on her sofa, and she was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the coffee table, looking like a stranger in her own home. He was angry with her, angry with the world, really.

 _"Rusty, I am doing everything I can to look for your mother."_

 _"How am I supposed to know if you're actually telling the truth, Captain?"_

 _She looked pained. "I can't really prove that to you. You have to trust me."_

 _He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. That's what everybody says."_

 _She sighed. "What can I do you make you believe me?"_

 _"You could actually, like, find her."_

 _She stood, and in a single, sharp motion, jerked her gun and her badge off her hip. For one terrifying moment, he had the irrational fear that she had snapped. Then he realized she was merely separating herself from the Captain. It was something subtle he had been noticing._

 _Sharon was separate from Captain Raydor. They were both uncomfortable with him, both sticklers for the rules, but Sharon was slightly softer. She was more like an actual human being._

 _She sighed again. "I'll be right back, okay? Think about what you'd like for dinner." She vanished into the hallway, and he heard her bedroom door open and click shut._

 _He got up and wandered into the kitchen to look through her fridge. There was some milk- normal for him and almond for her- vegetables, a tupperware of leftover pasta, and a few other assorted items. He stared into the fridge. He knew how to make chicken alfredo; it was one of the very few things his mother had taught him._

 _He chewed on his lip. He didn't want Captain Raydor to think he was sucking up for getting angry with her, and he certainly didn't want her to think he liked her, but he was kind of hungry, and cooking dinner would be faster than ordering out._

 _He grabbed the pasta, a chicken breast that was behind the milk, and the little jar of minced garlic in the fridge door. He didn't see any Ragu, but he was pretty sure she had bought some the other day._

 _He was already boiling water and chopping chicken by the time Captain Raydor reemerged from her room. She was in jeans and a tee shirt, hair pinned out of her face, and her dark work makeup gone. She looked younger and kinder, but he supposed anyone would when they took their armor off._

 _"Oh." She sounded surprised. "You didn't-"_

 _"I just wanted to. Is it okay?" He didn't know why he was bothering to ask._

 _"Yes, it's fine. I just. . . " She trailed off. "Thank you."_

 _"Yeah," he mumbled. After a moment of silence he spoke again. "Do you have any Ragu?"_

 _"Mm, I think so." She glanced over his shoulder. "We have time to make a sauce, though." She smiled at him when he looked back at her. "It's not hard, trust me."_

 _"Okay." He didn't know if she was a good cook or not. She sounded like she knew what she was doing, but previously, she'd only ever reheated leftover takeout or made something simple. "You're sure?"_

 _"Mhmm. I did cook for my kids every once in a while, believe it or not. I'm sorry we've had to get take-out so often since you've been here."_

 _"It's okay." He was pretty used to it._

 _They worked quietly. He could hear music playing softly in the living room; she must have put a CD on._

 _Somehow, everything managed to finish cooking around the same time. Sharon had stepped away to get plates, and the sauce was starting to boil when he looked over at it. He picked up her spatula and stirred it gingerly._

 _"Here." She had swept up behind him and reached past to turn the stove off. One hand rested lightly on his shoulder. He tried not to tense. She probably hadn't even noticed that she'd touched him. It seemed very natural to her. "That looks gorgeous."_

 _She passed him a plate and a fork. As he served himself, she leaned against the fridge with her own plate, watching._

 _"Rusty."_

 _"Yeah?" He glanced over._

 _She raised an eyebrow. "Look what we accomplished together. I'd say this is an accomplishment, mm?"_

 _He shrugged. "I guess."_

 _"All we had to do was trust each other."_

 _He rolled his eyes and did a poor job suppressing a grin. "Does everything have to be educational?"_

 _She laughed. "Go eat."_

They had come a long way since that first dinner. They both trusted each other not to burn the kitchen down in the other's absence. Rusty hadn't been a great cook to begin with, and Sharon had a limited array of dishes, most of them holiday-related.

At least Flynn was pretty good at cooking. Dinner was suddenly becoming varied. Flynn had fed them eggplant parmesan the other night, and Rusty had been on his second helping before Sharon had finally started laughing and revealed he was eating vegetables.

They were good for each other, he realized. Flynn helped Sharon decompress, partially because the older man was a cop, too, and partially because he provided support where Rusty couldn't.

That didn't mean they didn't fight. They'd never had a shouting match and things had never been thrown- Rusty supposed Sharon was too mature for that- but there had been nights where Flynn and Sharon would bicker about something. It was usually pretty dumb, like Flynn wanted to buy the groceries when he cooked because Sharon shouldn't have to do all the shopping, or Sharon trying to force Flynn to actually take his pain medication.

But nothing bad had happened.

Rusty set the dirty tea cup in the sink and looked back at Flynn, asleep on the sofa.

It was a process, he supposed. He wasn't going to magically trust Flynn. Flynn wasn't going to win him over with a single move. Which was okay. It was normal to move slowly.

He had seen it in Sharon, heard it in Provenza's stories. Apparently, when Sharon had first joined Major Crimes, the day before Rusty did, she had been universally regarded at the devil, Satan incarnate. _With good reason,_ Provenza had said.

He had watched it as she slowly won the team over, slowly became one of the guys in blue alongside Sykes. After that, Flynn had slowly won her over, going from enemy to colleague, and finally graduating to friendship.

Trust was time-consuming.

Trust is time-consuming, Rusty realized.

He sighed as he watched Flynn on the sofa. The man snored faintly, he noticed, rather like Sharon did.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go.

Let go of his fear of long-term commitments.

Let go of his weirdly complicated distrust of Flynn.

Let go of his Sharons. Both of them.

His mother was essentially gone. For all intents and purposes, she wasn't coming back. Maybe she'd eventually get out of jail, but he knew she wasn't going to come back to him. After all the words said, he was sort of okay with that.

He'd miss her, sure. She was his mom, his mom mom. But things had been said, truths aired that weren't going away.

He had to let go of Sharon, too. His mom. His real, _blood of the covenan_ t mom. She was an adult who had her own life experiences and could make her own choices.

It had taken him a long time to come to that realization, that he wasn't the only one in the world capable of making okay decisions. She would tell him everything he needed to know about herself and Flynn when the time came. What she told him about it was her choice, not his.

He just had to keep trusting her. For once in his life, something was actually _just that simple._

He grinned and snapped a photo of Flynn to send to Ricky later. Just because he had trust didn't mean a little blackmail was out of order.


	13. Taking the Fall

_**A/N- Sorry it's almost a week late. I just. . . didn't do it? No reason, except that all I've been motivated to do is lay in bed and watch X-Files reruns. . . Sorry! :$ Enjoy anyways.**_

Andrea squeezed Sharon's hand tightly and then pulled the other woman back towards her.

"Come here, come here." Andrea backed around the corner into the hallway they'd just passed. "Oh, honey."

She glanced around. Rusty stuck his head around the corner but she shook her head softly. He backed away with a nod. Andrea pulled Sharon further down the hall to the women's restroom.

It was one of the nice ones, with soft lighting and padded benches. No one else was there.

"Come here." Andrea pulled Sharon into her arms and rubbed the woman's back as Sharon started to cry. "Oh, baby." The word 'baby' didn't really apply to Sharon, but the word came naturally. It was what she used when her little nieces cried, her brother, and anyone else who somehow ended up crying in her arms.

She felt bad. She hadn't known what was going on when she started giving Sharon the details of the plea, but then the doctors had rolled Flynn out, and she knew. She'd heard enough from Provenza and Tao to gather what had passed in the last several hours. She knew the rest of the story from Sharon herself.

Sharon was crying loudly now, the sounds muffled by Andrea's shoulder.

Andrea sighed softly. There wasn't anything she could say or do that would help. She knew that firsthand. Many years before, her little brother had been ill and in the hospital over Christmas. It didn't matter that now he was an adult, married with two kids. He'd always be her baby brother.

She'd been all of nineteen, when her mother had called her at work- she'd had to work the holiday. There had been tears and a hurried explanation to her boss, and then she'd near about flown to the hospital. There had been more tears and agonizing hours of waiting for blood work and progress. There was no consolation, no peace, no break from the fear of losing him.

She supposed it was the same for Sharon. Her fear could be based in some realistic aspect of Flynn's health or something utterly irrational. It didn't matter. Every fear was real and true in a hospital.

Andrea realized she had stopped rubbing Sharon's back as the woman's breathing became uneven. She started again.

Eventually, the sobs turned to jagged, stuttering breaths, interspersed with hiccups. Finally, there was a sharp inhalation, and Sharon sat up, pulling away.

"'M sorry," she mumbled.

"You have nothing to apologize for. This is what friends are for."

"Your jacket will have to be cleaned. Let me take care of it."

Andrea knew Sharon was fighting to keep herself preoccupied, so the blonde played along. "Look."

"What?" Sharon seemed genuinely confused.

Andrea straightened her lapels. "I spilled tea down the front earlier today, and there's ink all over the cuff." She turned her hand over so Sharon could see. The tea was barely visible- it had just started brewing when she spilled- and the ink stain was a year or two old.

"Andrea."

"Sharon." She shrugged. "It's okay." She reached up and swiped a tear off Sharon's cheek with her thumb, wiped her thumb dry on her wrist, and then reached up again to rub a streak of mascara off the other woman's face. "What did they tell you?" They'd have to face up to the real world soon enough.

Sharon sniffled. "Um, they said his blood clot had moved up from here-" She touched her carotid at the base of her neck. "To here." She touched a spot just below and behind her earlobe, holding her hair back with her other hand. "They took him to surgery for. . . uh, well, I don't know, removal, I guess."

"You don't know?"

Sharon shook her head. "Provenza has Andy's medical power of attorney." She snorted. "Apparently, they were going through paperwork earlier and DNR papers, and. . . well, Rusty was scarred for life, I think." She smiled faintly.

"God, I don't care what happens to me, never let that man do my paperwork. Any of it!" Andrea added.

"Will do," Sharon sighed, leaning into her friend. "Promise me two things, though."

"Yeah?"

"First of all, don't let Provenza do any more of my paperwork than necessary."

"Okay."

"Secondly, don't get you get hospitalized, either. I'm nearly done in." She sighed heavily.

"I'll try not. I don't think my insurance would appreciate it." She wrapped her arm around Sharon. "You'll get through this, and so will he. You're one of the strongest women I know."

Sharon sighed skeptically.

There was a loud knock on the door, and before Andrea could do anything, Provenza barged in.

"You could have waited a moment."

He rolled his eyes. "I've been in enough ladies rooms," he said as Sharon sat up and tried to wipe her eyes subtly. "That I'm pretty comfortable just walking in."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Lieutenant."

"You can't scare me, Captain. I've learned that the Wicked Witch is just a facade."

"Did Tao teach you that big word?" Andrea asked, raising a brow.

He snorted. "You on the other hand; you're just pure evil, through and through."

"I could send Emma Rios back to you."

"Ye gods. Don't you dare, Hobbs."

She shrugged.

Sharon shot them both pointed looks. "I assume there's a reason for your being here, Lieutenant?"

The use of his title anchored him again. "Sorry, Captain. Just wanted to tell you we're going to eat dinner in Flynn's room anyway. Figured we might as well, since no one wants to leave."

"Oh," she said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, too, Hobbs."

The blonde nodded. "Thanks."

He looked down at the floor, perhaps unwilling to see his Captain in her moment of weakness. "Flynn'll be fine, ma'am. He's got a thick head, and he's put up with Sykes for four years, you for six, the Chief for another seven, and me and Tao and Buzz and Julio for. . . well, let's not go there. Then he's worked for Taylor even longer. If he can survive with all of us this long, he's going to make it through this just fine."

Sharon felt her eyes watering again, and she didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded.

"Alright." Provenza clapped his hands together. "Finish pulling yourself together, Captain- can't have you scaring anyone- and then come on out and get some food."

"We will," Andrea said. She waited until the bathroom door closed again, then nudged her friend. "You heard the man. I've got a tube of mascara in my bag that you can use after you clean the remainder of yours off."

"Thanks." Sharon walked over to the mirror and wetted a paper towel. Andrea watched as she dabbed the smears of black off her cheeks. "What did I do to deserve all of you?"

Andrea cocked her head. It sounded rhetorical, but she answered anyway. "We're your friends, it's as simple as that."

Sharon glanced over.

Andrea shrugged. "Friends don't let friends take the fall alone. We'll be here for you."


	14. Thick as Thieves

_**A/N- Sorry I never updated. I was super busy. I hope everyone had a good fall break, and for those of you also in uni: we're almost done! Thank God. There's a flashback in the middle (italicized) about Jack and Sharon. Super angsty. . . I hope you enjoy this and review (;**_

Sharon set her hand on Rusty's shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly, but her heart wasn't in the action. She understood why he'd done- or rather, not done- what he'd done, but at the same time, she had been in Gus' position too many times to cut Rusty any slack.

All the times Jack had used her for something- sex, money, a roof- and then vanished had left her with a strong opinion about misinformation.

She didn't feel bad for Rusty when Gus had shouted and walked out. She had kept herself from saying I told you so, but it was a close call.

She did feel bad that the poor boy was going to be in a trial again. He had gotten out of one investigation, only to be launched into another. In all fairness, he had brought it upon himself, but it was still- as both Ricky and Rusty would call it- a _dick move_ on the part of Slider's attorney.

"Sharon?"

"Mm?" She raised her eyebrows and looked down at her youngest. In heels, she was still taller.

"What do I do now?"

He looked lost, much like he had when he'd first come to live with her. She could feel herself melting slightly, but she steeled her expression, nonetheless.

She shrugged. He had to figure it out on his own now. "You do what you think is right. That might involve going after Gus and apologizing-"

Rusty winced.

"Or. . ." _Well, that_ is _the best option._ "Think about what you've done."

"Sharon, I'm not five!"

She wasn't offended by the snap. She had reacted with anger when she was lost, too.

"I know."

His shoulders slumped. "Sorry."

She shrugged again. "Apology accepted." Her father had relentlessly told his children not to reply to an apology with okay, as an injury wasn't to be brushed off. It could be forgiven, but not completely forgotten. Apologies were to be accepted or not. They were to mean something, not just be a casual plea for forgiveness. She had taught her children the same.

Rusty smiled bitterly. "Where do I even start?"

"The beginning is usually a good place."

He sighed. _"Sharon."_

She quirked a brow. "Talk to him, if you're so concerned."

"I don't think he's going to pick up his phone."

"Rusty. If you leave enough honest messages- none of that _please call me, bye_ bullshit- he'll listen to one of them eventually." She knew that from her own experiences.

His jaw had dropped slightly at her expletive, but he closed his mouth and nodded. "And if he doesn't?"

"Shoot him a text. Email. Track him down in person. He'll want space at first, but I suspect he'll eventually want to talk to you, if just to get the facts straight in his own mind."

There was a sudden flash of understanding in his eyes, and he paled slightly. He had figured her out.

"Sharon?" Judge Grove had stepped back into the room, sans his robe. "Am I going to have to call security to haul you out of the building?"

She smirked at him. "Not this time, sir."

"Sir, my ass," he muttered. She was teasing him. "Scram."

She tilted her head to him, then turned and began walking, Rusty's elbow in a death-grip.

Rusty sighed heavily. "I'll call him this afternoon." He looked down at his subpoena again. "But what do I do about this?"

"There's not much to do. You've been served."

"But-"

"Rusty," she said gently. "I know this is the last place you want to be again. You know how it goes. You can talk to Andrea about it, but I think she'll tell you roughly what I've told you."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Okay."

They walked in silence for several minutes before she spoke. "Apologies are hard."

He glanced up questioningly.

"I once sat down in Chief Johnson's office and told her I was sorry for being a bitch."

"You said that?"

She nodded. "Word for word. I've apologized on behalf of Jack too many times to count, now, but I apologized to him a few times, too."

He waited for her to continue. She realized that after a long pause and smiled sadly at Rusty.

"It's a very long, very emotional story, and I don't think we need to go there right now."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They reached the courthouse doors before speaking again.

"I'm sorry I keep screwing up, Sharon."

She stopped. "Honey, it's a part of life."

"Yeah, but I seem to do it a lot," he muttered.

"You grow wiser from your mistakes. It takes time. You're still very young."

"I don't feel young right now."

She hesitated before speaking. "You were forced to grow up _very_ quickly. It was very unfair. And now, you're trying your best and you're still making mistakes."

He nodded miserably. She had nailed it.

"I made just as many mistakes, if not more, at your age."

He looked at the ground. "Sure."

"We all have different paths and different mistakes. You're almost twenty now. At your age, I was about to graduate college with a criminology degree. I had a job working nights with the LAPD, and I was engaged to Jack. And- God-" she snorted to herself. "Less than a year later, I was working full-time, married, and pregnant."

"That doesn't sound like you screwed up to me."

She smiled at the memories, turning her face to the sun. "I was working twelve-hour shifts during the week. My schedule and Jack's rarely intersected, and I was as sick as a dog with Emily. It was not a good time. There were. . . words said that shouldn't have been said. And they were repeated on a horrifyingly frequent basis."

* * *

 _"Jack!" Sharon had left the cup of tea she'd been nursing on the kitchen counter when she saw him leaving._

 _"What?"_

 _"Can't you spend one night away from your friends and stay with me?" She wrapped her arms around herself, and the overlong sleeves flopped around her hips. "I don't feel well, and it'd be really nice if, um, if you'd just sit with me for a while."_

 _He stared at his wife. Her skin was pasty white, as it usually was now, had been for several weeks, and he would have said she looked like death warmed over if he hadn't known what was really going on._

 _"Come on, Sharon. I need to pass these exams."_

 _"You're studying?" One eyebrow arched alarmingly high. "At the Buckhorn?"_

 _"Yeah, Sharon. I wouldn't expect you to know this, but it is possible to do with friends in public places."_

 _Her jaw dropped, and he could see her eyes turn bright with tears. Maybe that had been too harsh. She hadn't been in college that long ago, and she hadn't left because she wanted to._

 _"Fuck you, Jackson." She was shivering with anger in her pink jersey shorts and his overlarge UCLA sweatshirt. He could see the young girl he'd met freshman year in her still. Gangly legs emphasized by baggy clothes, a bony nose, and long hair cascading down her back._

 _"This is why I'm leaving tonight. This happens every goddamn week!"_

 _Her eyes spilled over, and he felt bad for a moment._

 _"I'm sorry!" It came out between hiccuping sobs. She cried more easily than he would have guessed. He suspected it was partially due to lack of sleep, partially to hormones. He wasn't sure about the latter. That was in Sharon's department to understand, not his._

 _He looked her over, mind already made up. "Yeah, well, try again tomorrow. I'm not really in the mood for this crap again tonight." It wasn't her fault, not really, but it was effortless just to let her think it was. It was a low blow, and he kept telling himself he wouldn't do it again, but it was a way out when he wanted to be with his friends, sharing a beer or two._

 _There was a sharp gasp, but he didn't look back as he walked out. He knew she'd still be rooted to the spot, nose turning red and her cheeks blotched with tears. It had happened a few times now. Not every week by any means, but often enough that he knew what would happen._

 _When he finally returned home, several hours and only a couple study guides later, he found her curled up on the sofa. She had been too exhausted to be much fun in bed lately, but she had never relegated herself to the sofa before. She'd curl up on her side of their bed, blankets wrapped tightly around her like a Kevlar vest._

 _Even in sleep, she looked miserable. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, so he knew she'd been sick again since he'd left. She usually left her hair down at home. Her knees were pulled as close to her chest as possible and she had pulled the sweatshirt down over herself._

 _She shivered slightly in the cool air, legs bare. He realized she was asleep, flat in the middle of the sofa, no pillow, no blanket, and the truth hit him. She had tried to wait up for him. She hadn't grabbed a blanket because she hadn't intended to fall asleep._

 _"Oh, Sharon," he whispered. He suddenly felt like a jerk. He hadn't really studied much. It was mostly just another night on the town with the guys. It wasn't like he was failing any classes, but he could do better, too._

 _He quietly deposited his book bag and scooped her up in his arms. Her head rested against one shoulder, and her curled-up legs barely hung over his other arm. She was so much smaller than he was, and her near-constant nausea didn't help the matter._

 _She stirred slightly as he carried her to the bedroom and nuzzled closer to his chest._

 _He looked down at her._

 _"I'm sorry."_

* * *

"It's hard, Rusty. Life is hard."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I can't help you more, but this is something you have to figure out for yourself."

"It's okay, Sharon. I get it."

She hugged him with one arm. "I can still offer advice, though. And I'm sure Andrea will help you with the legal part of things. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use."

"Oh, I don't know." He bumped her shoulder. "You're still pretty sharp for being on the wrong side of-."

She laughed, cutting him off. "You don't need to remind me of my great age."

He grinned at her. "Thanks, Sharon. For everything."

She nodded. "It's my pleasure. Rusty-"

He looked up.

"If I can help you avoid the mistakes I made when I was younger, I will. That's the only good thing about being old: people will listen to your advice now and again."

"Moms are pretty universally known for relationship advice," he replied.

"There's a reason for that," she said cryptically. They had almost reached her car. She crossed to the driver's side, but paused and looked at her son over the roof. "When you burn someone, it hurts for a long time, and even after that pain is gone, there's still a scar."

 _ **A/N- I wrote all this damn angst for y'all. I expect to hear some feedback, m'kay?**_


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